


The Desert and the Ocean

by a_steady_wish



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_steady_wish/pseuds/a_steady_wish
Summary: Following the events of Anasazi (2x25), things take a bizarre turn, and Mulder and Scully are forced to do whatever it takes to save each other as they try to uncover the truth about human and alien experimentation that may still be taking place.





	1. Prologue and Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @edierone (on Tumblr) for her fabulous beta work and support!

PROLOGUE

The desert and the ocean are realms of desolation on the surface. The desert is a place of bones, where the innards are turned out, to desiccate into dust. The ocean is a place of skin, rich outer membranes hiding thick juicy insides, laden with the soup of being. Inside out and outside in. These are worlds of things that implode or explode, and the only catalyst that determines the direction of eco-movement is the balance of water. Both worlds are deceptive, dangerous. Both, seething with hidden life. The only veil that stands between perception of what is underneath the desolate surface is your courage. Dare to breach the surface and sink. 

― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

The storm was rolling in quickly from the east, flashes of lightening brilliant in the black sky. Rain had started to tap down against Scully’s windshield – at first softly, sporadically – and then only minutes later, a steady, thrumming beat that drowned out the news on the radio. She clicked off the background noise, turned on her high beams, and drove onward in fearful, anxious silence.

There was only one thing, one person, on her mind: Mulder. She hadn’t heard from him all day until his phone call twenty minutes ago that his father had been shot with him in the house. He sounded confused and frightened, and so far away – how she wished she could get to him quickly, protect him, make all things well. He was so shaken, just wanting to get home and sleep. You can’t come home, she’d told him after being shot at through his living room window. There was danger there, too. There was danger everywhere, now that the truth was laid bare in his hands.

Mulder wasn’t well, and she was overcome with a fierce determination to figure out what was happening to him. He had a wild look in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before, and sometimes, in quiet moments, she would notice that his breathing was shallow and erratic. His behavior had been aggressive and unpredictable – but who was doing this to him? And how were they doing it? And for what gain?

Her car slipped and trembled on the road as she neared her building. Wind pushed against one side with a vengeance; it whistled through the edges of the windows, whispering threats into her hair. She felt the wheels on that side lift off the ground for a moment.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” she murmured, so close to the steering wheel now that her chin bumped it. Her knuckles were gleaming white in their grip. The tires spun in thick streams of moving water under them, straining to grasp purchase, and bumped the curb as the wind assaulted her small car.

Home – oh thank God – home. Scully parked, taking a moment to close her eyes before braving the storm outside. Even turned off, the car shuddered and shook with the force of the wind, and Scully was sure she felt the occasional raindrop against her face, forcing its way in through a closed window. She rested her face in the palms of her hands, taking deep breaths.

Mulder would be here soon, banging on her door, and who knew what state he would be in. Shock, panic, rage, grief? All of the above, most likely. Scully opened her eyes just enough to watch the rain pound the windshield in front of her, and she counted to ten, reminding herself why she needed to steady her legs and get moving right now.

Mulder needs me.

His father is dead.

They will think he did it.

Something is terribly wrong with him.

A car plowed through the water beside her, splashing against her window, startling her from her meditation. A yard away, a tree limb cracked and toppled clumsily to the ground. Scully’s hands were shaking in her lap. Start again.

Mulder needs me.

That is enough.

She pushed open her car door, the wind’s cruel grasp nearly pulling it out of her hand, fingernails breaking from the force. The puddles at her feet were ankle-deep already and she pulled off her shoes and tossed them into the backseat, then pulled her hood over her head. She needed to get inside, try to find out what was going on with Mulder, and be there when he arrived.

Scully ran up the path to her building, eyes almost closed against the deluge, the pounding current soaking through the bandage on her forehead and stinging the bullet wound there. Lightening flashed in the sky at the same moment as the thunder clapped loudly; so loudly, she wondered if the storm was coming from within her own body.

Mulder needs me.

She pushed the front door open, let the wind slam it shut, leaned against it. Outside, thunder boomed again, lightening flashed again, the rain changed direction and turned toward the street, churning and rolling in waves. She was safe; Mulder was still out there. Sick, confused, and his life in peril.

Mulder needs me. More than ever before. And I will not let him down.

Finally in her apartment, Scully hung up her drenched coat, stripped off her wet socks, closed all the curtains – if those bastards were going to try to shoot her again, they would have to guess where she was – and threw a few things into a suitcase, knowing that she and Mulder were on borrowed time, now. She poured herself a glass of water and sat at her desk with a book of war codes, trying desperately to translate something, anything, from the tapes Mulder had been given. The answers were there, and she needed to know them, before more damage was done.

Dana Scully opened the book on her lap, listening for any sound of him. She angled her chair towards the door, watching for any movement of him. And she waited, silently, as her heart drummed his name through her veins and into her ears, for Mulder to arrive.

____________________________________

CHAPTER ONE

Things are never as they seem… They are always deeper than we perceive, like walking in the ocean and suddenly dipping under the surface because the bottom has disappeared beneath your feet. The water appears shallow until you are suddenly flailing around beneath the surface, desperately searching for stable ground once again.

― Kelseyleigh Reber

Mulder was angry.

Seething, in fact. Scully didn’t think she had ever heard him so full of rage, of contempt.

“You have my files, and you have my gun, don’t ask me for my trust,” he spat at her, then hung up abruptly.

But trust was all they had left.

Scully turned back to the FBI firearms examiner who was collecting the evidence to clear Mulder’s name. Bill Mulder had been shot to death the night before, with his son in the next room. Mulder had finally stumbled into her apartment in the early hours of the morning, feverish, weak, and disoriented; Scully had put him in her bed and then somehow managed to get two hours of sleep on the couch before panic woke her.

There wasn’t much time. She had to make sure Mulder wasn’t charged with murder, and perhaps even more importantly, she had to find out what was making him sick.

She had left him, that morning, sprawled out in her bed, fever trying to break while he slept. She tiptoed into the room, laid some painkillers and water on the bedside table, and opened the curtains a little so he would know it was morning when he woke.

“I’ll have the results later today,” her colleague was saying, and she nodded vaguely in his direction, already walking away.

___________________________

The water. Of course, it made perfect sense now: it was the water.

She stood at Mulder’s window, watching men outside removing a water tank from the building, and a shudder of realization went up her spine. They’ve been poisoning his water. An examination of the water tanks in the basement a few minutes later proved her hypothesis; one of the tanks had been freshly changed, and looked different from the others.

“Those sons of bitches,” she whispered, slapping the metal tank with her palm. What kind of chemical cocktail had Mulder been ingesting? She would have to collect a sample of his tap water and get it to the FBI lab as soon as possible.

She could only pray that the FBI wasn’t in on this, too.

__________________________

Her apartment was empty. Dammit.

The work she’d done today hadn’t cleared Mulder’s name; she would need more time. “The type of gun and type of bullet used in this shooting are a match,” the firearms examiner had told her in his no-nonsense tone. An hour later, in a lab so quiet you could hear a pin drop, one of the men on the FBI science and research team had described to her what was in Mulder’s water, and it scared her speechless. It was a toxic cocktail that no human should drink, with short and long-term effects the likes of which she didn’t yet know. Scully had run back to her car, racing home to get to Mulder, hoping to find him resting and drinking lots of good, clean water while the poison slowly worked its way out of his system.

But he wasn’t there.

Scully paced her living room floor for a few minutes, exhaling in short spurts. If she went into fight or flight mode too, neither of them would make it out of this alive. She had to think clearly.

Okay, first things first: Where would Mulder want to be right now? Home; his own home – he had told her so himself. He would go to the apartment where the very water was poisoning him, changing the chemistry of his brain, making him delusional. Oh God, Mulder.

She grabbed her car keys and was running again.

_____________________________

The gunshot rang out in the dark with even more power and terror than the thunder from the storm the night before. Scully was walking quickly towards Mulder’s front door, but when she heard that gunshot a feeling of dread struck her, and she almost stopped moving: she was too late.

Someone was dead. Mulder had either killed someone, or had been killed. She hadn’t gotten to him in time.

Scully ran around the side of the building, pulling her own gun out from her holster, holding it close to her chest. There was quiet, now, after that loud blast; the sounds of her breathing and her high heels striking the sidewalk seemed like the only noises in the universe.

And there was Mulder, a yard away from her, standing over a body. Thank God, was her first reaction: he is alive. Dammit, was her second thought: he has killed someone in cold blood. Scully neared him cautiously; Mulder in his right mind would never hurt her, but this was not the Mulder she knew. His eyes were different, his movements were different, even his voice sounded harsher. A bitter taste soured her tongue as she realized that this could be Mulder from now on; he might not go back to the person he had been. She shook the unwelcome thought away.

He was staring at the body on the ground at his feet, still training his gun on it.

“Mulder!” Scully called out, and he glanced at her only briefly before returning his deadly stare to the body. “Mulder, it’s me! What happened?”

Mulder swayed, unbalanced, on his feet; the hand holding the gun shook. “It’s Krycek, Scully!” he yelled. “He’s the one! He killed my father!”

Scully glanced down at the body again; yes, it was Krycek, a pool of crimson blood emerging from under his chest.

“Dammit, Mulder,” she said as she approached him, still cautious. “Put down the gun. Please. You’re safe now.”

His eyes locked with hers – those eyes, not of her partner, but of something else: a dangerous, brooding, menacing master inside of his body. Scully held in the gasp that threatened to escape her throat. “Nobody’s safe, Scully,” he scoffed, but at least he tucked the gun back into his pants. “You, me, our families… None of us is safe. I don’t even think I’m safe from you.”

This is not Mulder, she reminded herself, taking two small steps closer to him. Mulder would never believe that.

“Mulder, you need to come with me,” she pleaded. “You’re not well. Your drinking water has been compromised, it’s been tainted; it’s changing the way your brain operates. Come on, Mulder. I can help you. Come with me.”

For a moment they stood in silence, appraising one another. He took one step forward; she held out her trembling hand. Her mouth moved, though no sound came out: That’s right, come on. For a moment she saw a glimpse of her partner in those hazel eyes again.

Her phone rang.

Mulder startled, as if from a trance, and pulled his gun out again, training it on Scully this time. His whole body seemed to vibrate, as a taut string that had just been plucked; Scully was sure she could see and hear the terror coursing through his bloodstream. “You’re one of them,” he whispered, staring her down.

Scully knew it was the lab calling with more detailed results from his water sample. If she could only take this call, she would have more information to help him…

She reached for her phone slowly, showing him what she was doing. “I have to take the call, Mulder. I’m trying to help you,” she explained, lifting the phone from her pocket and holding it up for his inspection.

He nodded shortly, but kept the gun aimed in her direction.

“Scully,” she said into the phone, and then listened as the lab technician told her that the sample had been replaced – when no one was watching, someone had taken the drug-laden water and replaced it with a vial of clean, spring water with barely an additive to speak of. “I don’t know why someone would do this,” he was saying, but Scully knew.

“Thank you, I’ll take care of it from here,” she said curtly, hanging up the phone.

In that moment she knew that Mulder was right: they weren’t safe here. Everything they had trusted, and relied upon, had changed; and all because of a tape of unknown codes that she had strapped to her thigh.

“You’re right, Mulder,” Scully conceded, slowly putting her phone away and holding her hand out to him once more. “You were right all along. People want the tape, and they’re willing to do anything to get it. We can’t trust anyone.”

He nodded frantically; the gun quaked in his hand.

“But you have to trust me, Mulder. We have to trust each other. We’re all we have left, now.”

“I… can’t…” he stammered, unsteady on his feet. His eyelids fluttered; his balance dipped.

“You have to, Mulder. I’m here to help you, I promise. Mulder…”

His gun dropped to the ground as he fell too, losing consciousness; his head landed with a thud on Alex Krycek’s motionless back.

“Mulder!” Scully yelped, dropping to her knees by his side. She looked around, panicked; she couldn’t call for help, certainly couldn’t call an ambulance.

The tape scratched against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, reminding her that having this code translated, and solving the mysteries behind it, might very well save Mulder’s life. There was a man in Two Grey Hills, New Mexico, whom she had been told was one of the last people alive who could possibly decipher it. Scully was petrified, if she was completely honest with herself. Mulder was the one in their partnership who took risks, stole evidence, went on the run; Scully ran samples and filed paperwork and occasionally, with just cause, apprehended a suspect. Never in her wildest dreams did Scully think she would be dragging the heavy, unconscious body of her partner across damp grass and rolling him awkwardly into the backseat of her car. Never did she imagine herself tearing out of the parking lot as the sound of police sirens screamed closer and closer; never did she think she would embark on a thirty-hour journey with an unstable man passed out in her car, possible evidence of a massive government conspiracy blistering her skin, and everyone in American law enforcement about to have her name on their lips and on their warrants.

But she was about to do just that.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder stopped for a moment, looked at Scully in a way that made her believe he was seeing into her very soul. There was nothing he could say to reassure her, she knew; this could be nothing, or it could be everything; they could make it out alive, or they could not. The only thing he could tell her for certain, with a slight nod and a squeeze of her wrist, was that they would do this together.

This was the desert, everything all at once, whether it was needed or not. What survived had learned to save, live carefully, and keep a low profile, even appear to be dead for long periods.

― James Anderson

The drive southwest was long and silent, with only the whirring of tires to fill her ears.

A drive like that gave a woman a lot of time to think. Scully thought about her family, about Mulder, about her abduction. She thought about the doctor telling her after she was returned that she would never conceive children naturally, and the hot tears that had fallen onto her hospital pillow that night. She hadn’t told Mulder that part; he had been angry enough at the sons-of-bitches who had taken her, experimented on her, and then dumped her on a hospital doorstep like a bag of trash. Mulder would kill them, she knew, if he had the chance; she wasn’t going to provide him with more ammunition.

She thought about Mulder, his sister, his parents. His family was deeply embroiled in this; that much was clear. She considered the pain Bill and Teena Mulder had heaped onto their son – blaming him for the disappearance of his sister, effectively shutting him out for the rest of his life. They continued to live in the same house, but they weren’t a family. If Mulder and I had a child, would we do that sort of damage? Are we just as mixed up in this as they were? No, we would –

Where did that thought come from? Scully shook it off, considered turning on the radio. But she wouldn’t hear Mulder’s breathing if the radio was on; he could choke, and she might not even realize it. No radio.

She had to stop in Missouri to sleep for an hour, pee in the bushes, change Mulder’s catheter bag, and take his temperature. His fever was high; she was grateful, then, that he was still unconscious. At least he looked peaceful, after the torment he had suffered leading up to this point.

“Rest, Mulder,” she whispered to him, stroking his hair. “Get all the rest you can.”

Two Grey Hills was a large and peaceful reservation on the very western brink of New Mexico. Pulling up at dawn, Scully was relieved to find two stoic and kind-looking men standing guard at the entrance to the small motel. As she stumbled out of the car, her legs and back stiff, the older man stepped towards her.

“You must be the FBI lady,” he said calmly. There was something about his voice that made her feel safe, for the first time in days. “We have been waiting for you.”

“Is that the FBI man?” the younger man asked. Moving closer to him, Scully realized that he might still be a teenager; he was peeking with childlike curiosity into the backseat, where Mulder had just begun to stir, his fever likely breaking again.

“He’s very ill,” Scully began to explain, but the older man held up his hand to stop her.

“He will rest here,” he told her, and she nodded.

Scully soon discovered that his name was Albert Hosteen, and not only was he a chief among his people, he was also the man Scully had come to see. The young man – Albert’s grandson, Eric, Scully learned – helped her carry Mulder inside and settle him on a large, soft bed.

They left her to rest.

Scully sat on the edge of the bed after seeing them out, watching Mulder’s chest rise and fall. She missed her partner’s voice; she missed getting his opinion on everything; she even missed arguing with him. She prayed he would wake up as himself.

She didn’t know what she would do if he didn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to think about that possibility.

The place was eerily quiet, but for the occasional sound of a lizard skittering over the window ledge outside, or over the roof. Scully changed into more comfortable clothes; what she wouldn’t have given to have a shower and then climb into bed in her underwear, but she didn’t know when Albert, Eric, or another member of their family would come back. She was so weary it hurt – every part of her was begging to shut down – but even so she checked Mulder’s catheter bag (empty; he’s dehydrated), checked his temperature one last time, and gave him a dose of antibiotics and a multivitamin shot, to be on the safe side. Finally, finally, she slid under the covers next to him, curled towards him like a bracket – one hand over his chest to monitor his breathing – and slept.

In her dreams she walked along a shoreline, one foot in the water and one on the sand. Slowly, the tide ebbed away and then there was only sand… as she moved her feet against it, the sand began to dry up, taking her own life energy with it… and finally, the sand became hard as rock under her feet, and she turned to dust, falling to the rocky floor with one last, desperate cry.

She woke up with a start in mid-afternoon, disoriented. Mulder still lay unconscious next to her. In sleep, her hand had moved under his shirt, her fingers now digging into his solid abdomen. She patted him apologetically and pulled the blanket over him as she rose.

Albert came at four with a basket of muffins and she made a pot of coffee. For two hours they worked together, transcribing and decoding the words in those files; for two more hours Mulder lay sprawled on the big bed, fever rising and falling like the tide. Scully checked on him frequently, ran cool cloths over his forehead, lifted his eyelids to check the dilation of his pupils. Slowly, the pieces began coming together – some of them, anyway – frightening pieces of a horrific puzzle that Scully was realizing was much broader than the tape they held in their hands. They worked well together, with him showing her some repeated words as they went so she could do some of the decoding too. At one point Scully figured out a whole sentence except one word, a grouping of symbols she hadn’t seen before. When she turned the page to Albert, he paled a little, stared at the page.

“What is it?” Scully asked. Each sentence, each page, unearthed new and frightening revelations: these were lists of people, some alive, some not, who had been experimented upon, usually with deadly effects.

Albert blinked at her once, twice. “It is your name,” he said softly.

______________________

When Mulder’s eyes fluttered open, it was Albert who noticed first and went to stand over him. Scully watched from across the room, for a moment; she needed to see his eyes, and who, or what, lay behind them, but she found herself afraid.

Mulder looked around, confused; he didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t know Albert, who was looming over him, as tall and steadfast as an oak tree. Scully’s urge to make sure Mulder felt safe took over, and she pushed away her fear and moved quickly to his bedside.

“Mulder, Mulder, it’s me,” she said reassuringly, hoping that one of their familiar phrases would bring him into balance. A flash of remembrance of what his face had looked like a couple of nights before – angry and hostile, spitting words at her like venom – sent goosebumps over her arms, but she pushed that away, too. She willed herself to search his face, and then exhaled with relief at what she saw there: Mulder was back. She could almost read his thoughts —or at least, get a sense of them – just from sitting by his side; she hadn’t been able to do that when he was ill. The tenderness in his expression made her lungs constrict in the best possible way. “Drink some of that, you haven’t had anything to drink in over 36 hours,” she told him, offering a glass of water, which he took gratefully. His eyes stayed on hers as he gulped the cool liquid down his throat, and over the blanket his fingers found hers, weaved together. Connected again – finally, Scully thought, and she couldn’t help but smile at him.

Over the top of the glass, Mulder smiled back.

______________________

He actually appeared to be in fighting form. After going for a short walk with Scully by his side, stretching muscles and joints that hadn’t moved in three days, having a shower and more water and some chicken stew for dinner, Mulder said he felt “like a new man, Scully,” and she had to believe him; he looked far better than she did, staggering about stiffly in her rumpled clothes and unwashed hair. Once Albert left them that first night, after eleven, Scully finally had a hot shower, changed into pajamas, and curled up next to Mulder again.

“I missed you,” she surprised herself by saying out loud.

Mulder’s eyebrows raised a little; when he turned to look at her, his face was only inches from hers. “Really? I thought you’d be sick of my needy ass by now.”

The corners of her mouth lifted as she felt herself blush; she tucked her face into his arm. “I mean, I missed our partnership; our teamwork. Having you here in body but not in mind, it was… I sometimes forget how much I rely on you, Mulder.”

“You kicked ass, Scully,” he reminded her, turning onto his side so he could run a couple of fingers over the damp hair that was framing her face. She involuntarily leaned into his touch. “I can’t believe you did what you did. Besides saving my life, and taking care of me through the journey, you… well, you got us here. You got us to the people who might have the answers.” He kissed her forehead, and then whispered into her skin, “You amaze me, Scully.”

She shook her head modestly into his chest, so grateful to be breathing him in. “You’re a fighter, Mulder. You’re alive because you fought through what they’re trying to do to you.”

“I can’t fight everything on my own, though,” he murmured into her hairline, and took a long, thick breath. “Goodnight, Scully.”

“G’night,” she replied, allowing herself the luxury of staying nestled in his loose embrace. She had, after all, just been to hell and back, all the while not knowing if she would have Mulder with her like this again.

In the morning, when she awoke, he was gone; the note on her pillow said he was out for a drive with Albert.

______________________

It was against Scully’s better judgment to allow Eric to take Mulder and herself to the brink of a nearby reservation, but Mulder insisted upon it. Albert had told him about a tribe that had disappeared without a trace years before; they were called the Anasazi: ancient aliens. Albert said that they must have been abducted; he said that his people were still in danger of having this fate forced upon them. Mulder had made up his mind by the time he returned to the motel with breakfast, and in that state of mind, not even Scully could stop him from going in search of the truth. The best she could do was to go with him.

They descended the mountain as a group of three. The site seemed barren, from a distance, but as they approached the base of the mountain, they began to see an area where the rich, red sand had been disturbed. Scully motioned to Mulder: there was something large and metallic just under the sand.

“Mulder,” she gasped. Her heart had begun to beat rapidly; all of her senses were on high alert. There was something very strange and foreboding about this place.

Mulder stopped for a moment, looked at Scully in a way that made her believe he was seeing into her very soul. There was nothing he could say to reassure her, she knew; this could be nothing, or it could be everything; they could make it out alive, or they could not. The only thing he could tell her for certain, with a slight nod and a squeeze of her wrist, was that they would do this together.

It was a boxcar, they discovered, kicking and swiping the dirt from the entrance. They worked side by side, his body and hers in a perfect dance of give and take, their movements somehow both parallel and complementary. Scully had missed his partnership so much, this last week, while his brain chemistry was altered and he thought of her as an enemy. Not the only enemy, certainly, and not the worst one; but an enemy, nonetheless. Scully never wanted to see him look at her that way again. It was quite possibly her worst fear: that they would turn on each other, that their trust would be lost.

Eric had brought a set of pliers. He gripped the handle of the small door, stuck tight from lack of use, and yanked on it fruitlessly for a moment until Mulder jumped in and took over. Sweat dripped down his brow as he pulled with all of his strength, and then suddenly there was a loud screech of metal against metal, and the door lifted towards him.

“Ladies first?” he offered her with a cheeky grin.

She simply stared at him, so Mulder looked down, into the cavern, before sitting on the edge of the opening and letting himself fall in, feet first.

If this isn’t a metaphor for my life on the X-Files, Scully realized as she readied herself to fall into the boxcar after him. It was dark and smelly, and she couldn’t see anything; but she knew, without asking, without seeing, that Mulder would be there to catch her. She let her feet dangle down for a moment and then said “Here I come,” before letting go completely.

She landed in Mulder’s arms.

“Okay?” he asked, and she nodded, her cheek against his.

Flashlights on, they walked slowly towards the darkest corner. Even with decent flashlights, the car was so dark, so dusty, that it was almost impossible to see anything until it was right in front of their faces. And so it wasn’t until Mulder stepped on something that made a resounding crack that they knew they had found a piece of the evidence they were seeking. They fanned their flashlights out, his up and hers down, beams crossing and uncrossing against the darkness.

It was a pile of skeletal remains, and possibly some complete skeletons, as high as the ceiling. Scully choked on the understanding of what they had just stumbled upon while Mulder breathed sharply through his nose and reached out to touch the dry bones. He fixed his light on one of them as they studied it; he moved beside her, so close their arms pressed together, and their beams shone on the same thing.

It was not human.

Scully yelped, dropping the side of the bony arm she’d been holding; Mulder picked up the slack.

“Scully,” he puffed out, not for any purpose but to stay with her in that moment, and to keep her with him.

“Mulder, they’re not – “

“I know. I see.”

“What are they?”

Even without the light on his face, she knew he was looking at her, communicating without words. They would have to get one of these skeletons out of here and somehow do an autopsy of it – as much as could be done, with nothing but bones remaining.

“Scully, look at this,” he directed her to one of the bony arms with his flashlight. She saw, then, what had enthralled him: a circle of red against the ivory humerus.

“It’s a vaccination scar. Smallpox,” she added, turning the bone slightly to see if there were any other marks. There weren’t – not that she could see in this dim light, anyway.

They got to work quickly and efficiently, turning over arm after arm and counting the number of smallpox scars. Within minutes they knew that every brittle body had the same marking in the same spot. One more piece of the puzzle moved into place: the names on that list, the list that Albert was at that very moment still decoding back at the motel – they were bodies just like these, with smallpox vaccination marks.

Or maybe it wasn’t smallpox at all. Maybe it was some other kind of vaccination.

Scully trembled despite the dry heat that encased them. Mulder touched her elbow in solidarity, then handed her his flashlight. She aimed both at the structure as he carefully extracted one of the skeletons, trying to hold all of its dry, dangling pieces together; together they slowly approached the door, still open. When Scully looked up, she could see the tip of Eric’s sneaker in the door frame. She didn’t want to involve him in this – he was a civilian, after all, and only just eighteen – but they would need his help to get this creature out of here in one piece. She opened her mouth to call to him, but then heard something…

The rhythmic blades of a helicopter. Coming closer, closer. Sand started to whip around the top of the boxcar; Eric dropped his pliers.

The door slammed shut.

Mulder dropped the body. “Come on, Scully, we’ve gotta get out of here,” he commanded, grabbing his flashlight. They skimmed the area with their beams again, settling on a corner they hadn’t investigated yet; there was a crack in the metal. It was small, but it looked like their best bet. Mulder began to kick at it while Scully grabbed the pliers and grasped an edge of the peeling metal; Mulder pushed in, hard, with his foot while she widened the opening.

A helicopter right over them. Men yelling outside. Eric screaming, “No! I’m not going with you!”

Footsteps on top of the boxcar, pounding over their heads; dust filtering down into their hair and faces.

She almost had it, but passed the pliers to Mulder to finish the job quickly, and he did, throwing himself into the almost-opening with a mighty grunt. The area she had bent and shaped lurched forward, and he pushed her through it, her sides scraping against sharp, poorly cut steel. A person’s instinct is to keep him or herself from pain, to withdraw from it, but the instinct for survival is greater; Scully forced herself through and then reached for Mulder, who was larger and had to twist and turn, his mouth contorted with agony as he cut up his skin in the escape. The tumbled together into the tunnel that was before them; he gave her a forward push and she began crawling up the shaft, away from the boxcar, the sound of the helicopter now a dim but resounding thud that seemed miles away, although she knew it was still directly over them.

This is what it must feel like to be buried alive.

There was a strange sound, then, a long, airy fizzing sound, and though Scully didn’t know what it was, Mulder must have, because from behind her he ordered, “Go! Go!” She clawed through the dirt as fast as she could – up a little, to the side, up a little more – her fingertips raw and bloody from the friction.

“Go!” Mulder yelled once more, and then without warning he threw himself over her body, his face pressed into her neck as she felt the explosion vibrating through the dirt and against her skull even before she heard it.

When Scully did hear it, milliseconds later, the sound of the blast was so loud and so powerful, she thought it would catapult them out of the ground and into the hands of their enemies, if by some miracle it didn’t kill them both. The force shook them, shook the earth around them; pieces of packed clay and dirt fell on them as they held on tightly to one another. Scully’s arms were beside her face, and Mulder reached up and wrapped his hands around hers, squeezing tightly. The heat hit them from behind, searing their feet and backs of their calves. Scully whimpered in pain. She wanted to say a quick Hail Mary but couldn’t make herself form the words, even inside her head. Mulder’s lips were moving against her neck, and as she gasped for breath, beginning to lose consciousness, she understood what he was saying:

Stay with me, Scully, stay with me, Scully, stay with me, Scully, stay with me

And then everything went dark.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She slowly lifted her shirt in front of the mirror in the bedroom, and noted the damage: four long, narrow gashes on her hips, two on each side, and although she couldn’t see it, she could feel one on her upper back as well, between her shoulder blades. Again, she sighed, Mulder will be worse. She recalled his tall, muscular frame being forced through that small, sharp opening, and she shuddered. He was probably a lot more injured than he was letting on.

The desert was unexpectedly beautiful and horrible at once.

― Joy Williams

Something, or someone, was scratching at the earth around her.

It reminded her, vaguely, in her half-conscious state, of the summer she was ten and her family had a century home in a pretty town in the Midwest. Scully had begged her parents to give her the small attic bedroom, which they would have given to Bill, as the eldest; she had this romantic notion that she would sit up there and watch the stars at night and read by candlelight while the rest of the household slept, and without exactly sharing all of that information with her parents, she had pleaded her case and they had conceded. The room was quite small, with a low, triangular ceiling, but there was a large window that overlooked grass and trees and sky, and Scully loved it.

That summer, however, a family of something – mice? Squirrels? It was impossible to know for sure unless someone went up there, and no one was willing except Scully, and she wasn’t allowed – moved into the space between her ceiling and the roof. At night, Scully would be awoken by the sounds of the small creatures scritching and scratching just over her head, making their nests or feeding their young or whatever it is they were doing. Many nights, she had lain awake, listening to them; sometimes annoyed by the noise, when she wanted to sleep, but often not – often simply curious about what it was they were doing. She asked her mother if they were hungry, if she could pass food up to them, or small blankets; Maggie had only chuckled fondly, hugging her daughter.

When Scully drifted into awareness on a different day, many years later, it was with the same sensation. For a moment she thought she was back in that century home with the big backyard, and she wanted to wake up and look out of her favorite window. She wondered if the stars were out tonight.

Instead, she opened her eyes slowly to find Mulder holding her close, using his fingertips to dig clay and sand out from around them. As her vision came into focus, she remembered where they were, what had happened; she fought claustrophobia for a second, assuring herself that there was a source of air, they were breathing okay. “M – Mulder,” she stammered, gripping his forearm.

Mulder was spooning her from behind, scraping red dirt away from over their heads as ferociously as he could. He paused as he heard her voice. “Hey, Scully. You fainted. You okay? Can you help us get out of here?”

Scully nodded, coughing, and got to work with raw, tender hands, crawling within the half-circle of Mulder’s arms as together they clawed their way up and out.

They must have been fairly close to the surface already, because it didn’t seem long before they could hear voices just overhead. Mulder stilled her, motioned to listen, and nodded that it was safe: the voices were those of the Hosteen family, whom they could now consider their allies. They must have sent a search party. Mulder yelled for them, and Scully joined him, while they began pushing and punching at the clay ceiling over them once more.

Multiple people pounded above them, shaking dust and dirt onto their faces; they tried as best as they could to cover their faces with their hands as the ceiling fell. Finally, a sliver of sunlight streamed in, and they knew they were found. Scully relaxed in Mulder’s arms, letting the rescue team above them finish the digging.

They were alive. Burned, bruised, a little bloody, and very, very dirty – but alive. 

________________________

The rescue team consisted of Eric, who had been dropped off a mile from his home by “the helicopter men” and ordered to walk home and say nothing; his sister Rachel; their cousin Steven and his parents. They had two cars, and Mulder and Scully rode back with the parents, quiet and contemplative in the backseat. The couple, Daniel and Linda, who were likely in their late forties, must have been told by Albert about this arrangement because they seemed to know that this investigation involved the FBI, and they asked no questions.

They were dropped off without fuss at the motel; Linda handed Scully a first aid kit as she climbed gingerly out of the car. “You are burned,” Linda explained, and Scully nodded, giving the woman a small, exhausted smile.

Mulder ran himself a bath, and Scully assessed her injuries; second-degree burns on a small part of her calves (Mulder would have it worse; he was blocking her body with his), first-degree burns on her feet (thank God for thick running shoes, which were now ruined), and multiple bruises, lacerations and contusions. She slowly lifted her shirt in front of the mirror in the bedroom, and noted the damage: four long, narrow gashes on her hips, two on each side, and although she couldn’t see it, she could feel one on her upper back as well, between her shoulder blades. Again, she sighed, Mulder will be worse. She recalled his tall, muscular frame being forced through that small, sharp opening, and she shuddered. He was probably a lot more injured than he was letting on.

“It’s me,” she called lightly, pushing open the unlocked bathroom door. Mulder was in his underwear only, but didn’t seem to blanch as she walked in; he was standing next to the bathtub, getting ready to finish undressing and then climb into the tepid water. Scully asked him permission with her eyes before looking him over; he silently nodded yes.

She’d been right: his wounds were worse than hers, though there was only one cut that would require stitches. The rest were long and angry, but they would heal with antibiotic ointment and thick bandages (which she had in abundance, thanks to Linda), and she’d brought sterile needles for stitches and medical thread in her own bag from home. His calves were red and blistering in some areas, but she was relieved to find no charring or blackening of tissue. “Second degree burns,” she said, nodding. “You’ll be okay, Mulder. A lukewarm bath, and then we’ll rub some burn ointment on you. How are your feet?”

“They’re okay,” he said, lifting them to show her the soles.

“Okay, good, Mulder, that’s good. Don’t wash out that gash on your side – yeah, that one. It will need stitches and then we’ll clean it up properly. Dirty bathwater won’t be good for it.”

“Thanks, Doc,” he smiled, turning away from her.

She pulled the door closed with a soft click.

After his bath, and her lukewarm shower, the two of them found an old movie on TV and sat on the bed while Scully stitched up Mulder’s worst wound and doused it with iodine. Afterwards she found the burn ointment and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to properly rub it into the backs of her calves and onto her feet, though her body was so sore and stiff, it was proving to be a challenge. Mulder watched her with amusement from the throne of cushions she’d made for him at the headboard, and eventually he sighed in resignation. “Come ‘ere, Scully,” he said, patting the bed in front of his crossed knees.

“Mulder, it’s okay. I can do this,” she told him, but even she knew she was full of shit. Her back and sides, with their multiple lacerations, just wouldn’t allow her to bend far enough to rub her calves with any strength, and reaching her feet would probably cause her to fall face-first onto the floor. Scully huffed. “Alright, then,” she yielded, moving into a relaxed position on her stomach in front of him with her feet on his lap.

It’s not that she didn’t want him to touch her – Mulder was her best friend, and she trusted him with everything – but she didn’t want things to be uncomfortable between them. Sometimes, especially on long drives lately, their flirty banter would kick up a notch and she would feel her skin flush, feel heat pooling between her legs. On more than one occasion, she had noticed him watching her in a way that was… more than friendly. In those moments, Scully would quickly look away, change the subject, bring up the most horrible case notes she could think of. When she could, she would simply walk away. It seemed safer to keep a little distance, so no one got the wrong idea.

But oh God, did his hands feel good on her body.

Get a hold of yourself, Dana, she chided herself, shaking her head. You’re burned, and he’s caring for the injuries, just like you’ve done for him many, many times. This is something any good friend, or partner, would do for the other.

He ran his strong hands over her calves first, slowly, gently, soothing the tender skin while he worked in the ointment. She bit her lip to keep from moaning with pleasure as he worked her from ankle to knee, and back down again. He moved to her feet next, caressing each heel, arch, and around the toes with care and affection. A tiny whimper escaped her throat when he pushed in on a specific tender spot; she could sense Mulder grinning, behind her.

“Feel good, Scully?” he teased.

“Uh huh,” was all she could bring herself to say in reply. She wasn’t going to tell him – would never tell him – how good his touch felt in this moment. No, she would barely admit that to herself.

“Your turn,” she said as he was winding down, and flipped herself over. They exchanged positions, with Scully now sitting on her knees at the headboard and Mulder lying prostrate, his face hanging over the end of the bed. She poured a glob of the lotion onto her hands and worked it into his skin, just as he had done for her, making sure to get every last spot that was burned more than once. He sighed with pleasure. She did his feet briefly, but they looked good (thank God for his high quality hiking boots), and he chuckled a little and pulled them away as her fingers skimmed over his arches. “Are you ticklish, Mulder?” she asked, grinning.

“Just on my feet – oh! Scully!” He pulled up onto his knees in front of her, tucking his feet in under his body. When his eyes reached hers, she thought she had never seen so much affection, so much care in a person’s countenance before. It was almost –

Adoration.

She blushed, brushing the thought away, and looked back down at his side, taking note of the stitching job she had done. “Feel okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he groaned contentedly, leaning back onto his pillows. 

Scully joined him, keeping a few inches between them as they settled in to watch the rest of the movie; and in time they fell asleep that way, half propped up on pillows and each other’s shoulders, his lips almost on her forehead, hot breath against her skin through the night.

__________________________

In the morning, Scully woke first, threw on a sweater, and quickly scrawled a note to him explaining that she had gone walking to Albert’s house. Mulder had told her which one it was, and she knew his family would be up early, serving a large breakfast and having their morning prayers as a group.

The morning was cooler than she expected, but pretty; the miles and miles of rich sand seemed to shine with the morning light, and the dew that had fallen only hours before caused everything to glimmer in a way that was almost magical. Scully made a mental note to herself to make sure Mulder saw this the next morning.

The Hosteen homestead was a large, two-storey home made with blue wooden clapboards that had discolored to pale grey in the areas that got the most sun. The front door was open; Scully could hear people talking quietly as she tapped on the screen door. The family – eight of them, altogether – was gathered around the table; Albert waved Scully in, and Linda poured her a cup of coffee as she sat down.

“How is Agent Mulder?” Albert asked, watching Scully over the rim of his mug.

“He’s okay… recovering from yesterday,” Scully replied, gratefully taking a piece of toast from the plate Daniel passed to her.

“I did not come to ask you last night,” Albert said, “because you were wounded. Did you find what you were looking for, in that place?”

“We found a lot,” Scully answered, and realized suddenly that the room had gone silent as all members of the Hosteen family waited for her answer. “We found enough to keep searching.”

“Good,” Albert said decisively. “I have decoded much of the tape you gave me. I will have it done in the next day or two. Eric – make a plate for the FBI man for her to bring to him.”

“Thank you,” Scully said, looking around the room at the kind, albeit curious, faces. She knew this matter was important to their people, and she wished she had more to tell them. “Agent Mulder and I, we want… we want to help,” she said after a long pause.

“We know that,” Linda said softly, passing Scully a bowl of fruit salad. “We had an omen, before you came. You are meant to help us. And we are meant to help you.”

Scully felt tears sting her eyes; she looked down at her plate. “Thank you,” she said again.

“Anali! Grandfather! Look!” One of the teenagers – Steven – ran into the room, waving a newspaper in the air. “Look! It’s them!”

Scully and Albert stood up in unison, letting the boy toss the newspaper onto the table between them.

There they were, just as he had said: large photos of Mulder and Scully, plastered across the front page of a national newspaper. Above their faces was a caption in bold print: MISSING FBI AGENTS WANTED FOR HOMICIDE.

The piece of toast stuck in Scully’s throat; she suddenly wanted to vomit, and she knew her already-fair skin had just gone two shades paler. She put her hands against her cool cheeks. She’d known this had been a possibility, of course, but she’d hoped to be able to call Skinner today with more information. She had needed time to prove Mulder’s innocence, to rally evidence of the plot against him; instead she may have implicated herself as an accessory, and now they were in a world of trouble.

Albert looked at the newspaper for a long moment, assessing it in his quiet manner. Then he sat back down, handing the paper to Scully, which she took in two trembling hands. “You are running out of time,” he said.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She pressed her ear into his shirt, listening to his heart beating rapidly. He seemed calm, despite his fear. He had a lot to lose if this went south; probably more than she did. She wrapped her arms around his waist. They couldn’t risk speaking, in case anyone was just outside the door, but they always could communicate without words anyhow. Mulder ran a hand over her hair, smoothing down the flyaway pieces. His lips rested against her hairline, which seemed to be a favorite spot, these days. She held onto his side, under the area she had stitched just the day before. And they waited.

The most dangerous enemy is that which no one fears.

― Dan Brown, Angels & Demons

Scully was not a loud person, generally; not a person who burst into rooms, yelled (unless there was a very good reason), or overreacted. Because of her understated nature, Mulder had learned, in their more than three years together, to read her like a book – a book with some pages censored, but a book nonetheless. It was because of his Scully-reading skills that when she arrived in their motel room with a fretful look on her face, he stopped reviewing the transcripts and stared at her, his mind quickly gathering the facts based on each miniscule movement in her expression.

She handed him the newspaper.

Mulder took it, his dark hazel eyes still locked on hers. Finally his gaze wandered down to the paper in his hands, and he exhaled loudly as he read the first part of the story featuring two FBI agents who may have committed a homicide and then gone on the run: Fox Mulder, a suspect in the homicide, caught on a security camera standing over the victim’s body, and Dana Scully, his loyal-to-the-end partner, who had gone on the run with him. There was no mention of her dragging his unconscious body to her car, which meant either it wasn’t on the videotape, or whoever had the videotape wasn’t sharing everything.

Either way, they were in a lot of trouble.

“We need to stay calm, Scully,” Mulder said, but she knew his panic face when she saw it. His pupils dilated a little and he bit his lip. “Let’s consider our options here.”

“We could turn ourselves in,” Scully offered, “but we’re so close, Mulder, so close to the truth – if we just have another couple of days here –”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mulder nodded, swinging the paper in front of him as he began to pace the long room.

“We could call Skinner?” Scully said, more as a question than a suggestion. They had been wary of Skinner over the years, and rightly so; more than once they had been called into his office and recognized the faint odor of cigarettes in the room; Skinner would stare them down, daring them to bring it up. It was hard to tell if he was on the side of right or not, and at this point, they would have to be absolutely certain of his full cooperation before bringing him on board.

“No,” Mulder said sharply. “I don’t trust him, Scully. And neither should you.” He was in her space again, the way he always was when he was trying to gain her loyalty. He should know by now that he already had it, all of it. “He’ll trace the call. They’ll be coming to arrest us within the hour.”

Scully blew air from her mouth slowly, the wheels of her mind spinning. He was right; but then again, Skinner might be the only friend they had inside the FBI at the moment.

“Let’s drive back to DC,” Mulder said, suddenly and eerily calm. “We’ll drive at night, get back in a couple of days, and take care of some business before turning ourselves in. I won’t have you living in fear of being caught, or being on the run any longer than we have to be.” He stroked her cheek, his long fingers tracing the edge of her cheekbone. She nodded into his hand. “And, Scully – ”

She looked up as he paused, his voice full of emotion; when his eyes met hers again, they were murky grey-green, and for a moment he looked ten years older.

“I’d like to be there to bury my father.”

Scully laid her hand on his chest, felt it rise and fall with his breathing. She couldn’t promise him that, as much as she wanted to. She hoped her touch would be enough to tell him that she would try her damnedest.

_______________________

Albert had transcribed all of the documents by dinnertime. They got his phone call and then walked back up to the big house, the night air coolly prickling at Scully’s skin as her arm brushed against Mulder’s with each step.

There had been men in Scully’s life, both personally and professionally, who used their size against her, trying to dominate her; Mulder didn’t do that. Though he was much taller, when he loomed over Scully, she always felt safe, secure. He seemed to shield her from the dark elements with both his size and the way he stayed by her side, and the best she could do was try to return the favor.

It had been a productive day, as much as it could be from a motel room in New Mexico, a day and a half away from the crime scene. Linda had taken the samples to work and would come home tonight with the results; any evidence of LSD, or any other mind-altering drug, would help in Mulder’s defense.

And they had napped, all afternoon, in preparation for their all-night drive. Scully was becoming more and more comfortable nestled in with Mulder under a warm blanket, sometimes waking up with his hand gently resting on her hip. Today she had awoken to find them spooning, his tall body tucked in behind hers with his erection pressing into her backside – a perfectly normal biological response to stimulus, even while asleep, she’d reminded herself – and had slipped out of the bed and into the shower before he woke up and was struck with embarrassment.

The family was eating outside tonight, in the backyard, with the cool evening air billowing sand gently at their toes. The sunset was even more beautiful than the sunrise had been, with the tones of pink and orange across the sky turning the fields of sand before them into a shimmering pool of color; its beauty was in perfect juxtaposition to the horrors that Scully and Mulder had seen in the past week, and the nightmare that still lay before them.

Mulder ate ravenously; Scully chuckled at him as he went for thirds. Albert, Daniel, and another of Albert’s daughters, Susan, sat with them, talking quietly about the evidence at hand – the tension among them almost like an awkward sixth person at the table – while the teenagers kicked a soccer ball noisily in another part of the large, unfenced property.

Linda arrived during dessert, brandishing paperwork and a smile. “Miss Scully – Agent Scully,” she said in a hurried whisper, pulling up a chair, “you won’t believe these results.”

“I think I would believe just about anything right now,” Scully replied, leaning in towards her.

Finally, there were some answers, in black and white: a myriad of drugs, some legal, some not, that had been pumped into Mulder’s water source for many days, or possibly weeks, leading up to the murder of Alex Krycek. He hadn’t been in his right mind, and now Scully felt she could prove that.

The transcripts were also completed, and overwhelming in what they both told and foretold. Albert shook his head as he observed Mulder looking over them again. “You have found many answers, here,” he said, and Mulder agreed. “You should send this information to many sources before they come to get you.”

“There’s no one coming to get us,” Mulder insisted.

“Too bad you aren’t married,” Susan said. All eyes were suddenly on the quiet, subdued woman with the airy voice.

“Why is that?” Scully asked.

“There is a law. Spousal Privilege. Married people don’t have to testify against each other. Since you are the only witnesses, it is a shame you aren’t married to each other.”

Mulder didn’t look at Scully, but she could feel the current of his energy flowing in her direction. She shook her head at the group of people watching her, waiting for her reaction. “I don’t think we’ll need to do that, but thank you for the suggestion.”

Mulder stared at his plate, took a bite of pie.

“It is a good idea.” Albert said then, pouring himself another cup of tea. “You will need all the help you can get.”

“We have some evidence in our favor, now,” Scully reminded them all. Mulder was still eating his pie, as if this conversation wasn’t happening all around him. A small wave of hurt rushed through Scully’s chest as she understood that Mulder was repulsed by the idea, but was too much of a gentleman to say those words. She wasn’t in love with him, but he was her best friend, and being married to him wouldn’t be awful; not to her, anyway. Mulder seemed to be having a very different reaction to the idea. “In the morning we will head back to DC. I think we can make a strong case in defense of Agent Mulder.”

“What if you get caught on the road going back?” Daniel asked.

“We think we can make it. I don’t think anyone knows we’re here.”

Albert only stared at her with an expression she couldn’t read, and then returned to his dessert.

The air stilled around them, and all of the adults – and the kids playing ball on the other side of the yard, too – stopped what they were doing and looked around.

Suddenly Albert put his fork down and looked soberly at Mulder. “Someone has betrayed you,” he announced.

And then they heard the sirens.

Eric ran through the group of soccer players and grabbed Scully by the arm, ripping her from her chair; she followed willingly, Mulder at her heels. He hurried them into the house, and up, up, up the flights of steps into a loft in one of the bedrooms. “Help me move this,” he said to them as he started to push a heavy bookshelf, and the three of them strained against it until it shifted a foot over. Behind it was a small door; he motioned to it. It occurred to Scully that this drill had been practiced; this family had seen terror before.

Scully went in first, crawling on her hands and knees through the small space. By this time they could hear another cousin or two running towards them, and they knew law enforcement must be converging on the house. Mulder slid in behind her, and pulled the small door closed, locking it; the boys outside the door moved the bookshelf over again, and then rushed back out.

Scully was a rule-follower; a law-abiding person – a least she had been, until her allegiance to Mulder proved greater than any other loyalty. It went against everything in her to run and hide from police; but the thought that kept hammering through her skull was not yet, not yet, not yet. They would go back to DC in a day or two, with lab results in hand and a plan to implement; not like this, not in the back of squad cars. If they were taken right to prison, she wouldn’t have a chance to get the evidence where it needed to go, and it would seem clear to a jury that Mulder was guilty.

Preparedness had been a keystone in her life, and she wasn’t ready this time.

The hidden room was tiny; more like a crawlspace than a room. There was a large bean bag cushion on the floor, and space for little else; Mulder leaned into it and then reached for Scully, pulling her down onto his chest. She pressed her ear into his shirt, listening to his heart beating rapidly. He seemed calm, despite his fear. He had a lot to lose if this went south; probably more than she did. She wrapped her arms around his waist. They couldn’t risk speaking, in case anyone was just outside the door, but they always could communicate without words anyhow. Mulder ran a hand over her hair, smoothing down the flyaway pieces. His lips rested against her hairline, which seemed to be a favorite spot, these days. She held onto his side, under the area she had stitched just the day before.

And they waited.

There were men’s voices, outside of their little space, and footsteps – a lot of movement – and the sound of walkie-talkies. Scully had to force herself to breathe. Mulder’s hand, still on her hair, stopped moving and cupped the back of her head protectively.

They lay so still, so very, very motionless, and took rare, shallow breaths. His heartbeat pounded in her ear. Hers matched it, beat for beat.

The voices and the footsteps faded away – they were leaving, at least for now. Scully exhaled into Mulder’s ribcage. Her fingers loosened on his side.

They waited a long while before daring to speak.

“What next?” Scully asked him, breaking the silence.

Mulder looked down at her, their faces only an inch apart. His breath was hot against her eyelids. “We get married,” he answered.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stay safe!” Mulder called to her, and then the sound of his grunt echoed in the air as someone hit him. Scully choked on a curse and refused herself eye contact with these men, technically her colleagues, who were under orders to take the rogue agents by whatever means. She wouldn’t allow them the pleasure of seeing the pain and fear in her eyes.

I lay there pondering my situation, lost in the desert, and in danger, naked between sky and sand and stars, withdrawn by too much silence from the poles of my life.

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars

 

“You’re doing it again,” Mulder teased.

They were somewhere outside of Roanoke, Virginia, cruising down the almost barren highway in the middle of the night. Scully looked down at her hands: she was, in fact, doing it again – rubbing the bare skin on the ring finger of her left hand. She’d been doing that so much since they’d quickly repeated some vows at a drive-through wedding chapel in Tennessee hours earlier that the skin there was getting chafed. Mulder, who noticed everything, was not going to let her new tic go without discussion.

Scully sighed deeply, fought her eyes not to roll. She really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Are you… sure you’re okay with the arrangement, Scully?” he asked, the twinkle fading from his eye. “You don’t have to… I mean, we didn’t have to…”

“It’s okay, Mulder,” she assured him quickly, before his storm of self-hatred and regret could move in. “I’m glad to do it. The most important thing is keeping you out of prison.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand, his own rough thumb moving over the now-sensitive ring finger. “We should’ve bought rings,” he said.

Scully only shook her head fondly. He knew as well as she did that there was no time for frivolous stops such as jewelry stores; and anyway, this wasn’t a real marriage.

Spousal Privilege, they had been told, was a law that kept spouses from being compelled to testify against one another. Scully hoped and prayed that this case wouldn’t get as far as a trial – but if it did, they were that much more prepared, now. She couldn’t bring herself to testify against Mulder, and this way, she couldn’t be forced to.

The ceremony (if one could call it that) was three minutes long and done while they sat in their idling Ford. The minister had leaned out of a window, checked their identification, had them sign a license, and then read some quick vows to which they hummed in agreement. They’d each had to say “I do” only once, and then he pronounced them man and wife and handed them a marriage certificate to sign and keep, which Scully folded neatly and tucked into the glove box. There had been no kissing, no celebrating, no pomp and circumstance. It seemed fitting, in a sweetly ironic sort of way, that they would promise each other love and loyalty and fidelity the way they did everything else: quietly, earnestly, and in the front seat of a car.

It was done, and it made sense; but she didn’t want to talk about it.

Although the logistics of the arrangement had been on Scully’s mind throughout this trip, she was uncomfortable discussing it, and wanted to sort out her own thoughts in an orderly way before sharing them with her partner. Her questions also seemed pointless, in the face of an impending murder charge and investigation, and with the mounting evidence they had that the government had been performing tests on its own citizens, life-altering and even fatal tests, injecting them with vaccines that changed their genetic makeup. It seemed inappropriate, while heading towards DC to be launched into a whirlwind of legalities and conspiracies, to ask Mulder if he was planning to stay at her place, or did he want her at his place, or were they making no changes at all?

And when this was all over… then what? It doesn’t really matter, she reminded herself. Mulder was her best friend, and it was essentially the two of them against all the evils of the world, both known and unknown. She was just thankful that he was alive, thrumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove, deep in thought. Scully couldn’t help but think that the situation had been worse, much worse, when she had done a similar drive a week ago with an unconscious partner. How lonely and desperate she had felt; how unsure of what the future held for him, for them. This time, despite the unknown that lay before them, Scully felt refreshed and ready to take on almost anything. She considered for a moment, watching Mulder as he watched the road, that he gave her a great deal of strength. Just his being there through everything they had faced, being her sounding board, her confidant, and her number one fan, empowered her more than he could ever know.

Maybe some day she would tell him.

It was almost three o’clock in the morning, and her eyes were getting heavy; she yawned loudly. Mulder noticed that, too.

“Climb into the backseat, Scully. Sleep a while,” he said kindly, rotating his shoulders.

“Are you sure, Mulder? I don’t want to leave you up here – “

“I’m okay, Scully.” He flashed his million-dollar smile. “I’m peachy. I’m too wound up to sleep anyway. I can drive a few more hours, at least.”

Scully nodded, then unclipped her seatbelt and moved back, pushing herself through the space between the seats. She settled in with the blanket and pillow they had tossed into the backseat before leaving, and brought the blanket up to her chin, sighing contentedly. As she closed her eyes, Scully thought about leaving their friends and allies in New Mexico. They had left just before eleven the previous night, as a wind began moving across the desert in a way that made the sand twirl in red-brown spirals around their feet and the small bushes that miraculously grew out of this dry land. Mulder had emerged from the motel, tossed his boots into the car, and turned to Albert, who stood like an ancient tree, unaffected, in the whistling wind. “I don’t know how to thank you,” Mulder began, but Albert held his hand up to stop him.

“When you solve this mystery, you come back and tell us,” he commanded, and Mulder had bowed his head in gratitude.

Scully had taken Linda’s hands, then Daniel’s, whispering her thanks, before giving Albert a hug. He’d held her shoulders as he said goodbye, and she’d felt as though he was giving her a blessing of some kind.

Whatever it was, she would receive it.

Mulder put the radio on, quietly, and chewed on a sunflower seed. Tucked into the backseat, Scully rested her hands under her cheek as sleep finally took her.

_______________________

In her dreams there were rows of houses on tree-lined streets, children playing in their driveways, people walking dogs and riding bicycles and trimming hedges. She was one of those people, planting colorful flowers in a small garden in front of a pretty brick house, kneeling in the soft, warm grass as he gloved fingers worked the soil. There was a bird feeder a few feet away, and black-capped chickadees and hummingbirds and goldfinches came and went, snacking on the seeds and then flying into one of the trees on the large front lawn.

A little girl came running into the driveway, smiling and waving a skipping rope. “Where’s Daddy?” she asked breathlessly, “I want to show him my jumping!”

“He’s inside,” Scully said, standing and dusting off her knees. “Let’s go find him.”

As they stepped into the front door, the appearance of the home shifted; what had looked strong outside was weak and flimsy inside, with pieces of walls missing, windows broken, and floorboards cracked. Scully and the girl treaded carefully through the living room and up the stairs, became more and more aware of the frailty of the structure. Each step creaked in warning and they held on tightly to the railing as they ascended. The further they climbed, the worse it became, with whole steps missing and cavernous holes in their place. Scully made it to the top with the girl holding onto her arm; they lunged over the missing top step and continued down the dark, broken hallway.

There was a room at the end of the hallway that became darker as they approached it. Scully took the girl’s hand, pulling her close. In the room there was a man at the desk – Mulder – with his back turned to them, writing busily on a notepad.

“Daddy?” the girl said warily.

“Go away,” Mulder said tersely, and a chill went down Scully’s spine. “This isn’t real, Scully.”

The girl became upset, reaching out for him. Nervously, Scully touched her shoulder. “Mulder?” Scully whispered, and waited.

Mulder shook his head, but still didn’t look at them. “None of this is real,” he said again. “It isn’t what it seems.”

“What are you telling me, Mulder?” she asked, tentatively taking one step forward. “Are you trying to give me a warning? I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me…”

“It isn’t what it seems,” the girl said suddenly, and then evaporated before her eyes, turning into a swirl of red desert sand between the two adults.

Scully gasped.

Mulder stood up, then, his face still turned down towards his desk. “Scully,” he said again, his voice low, “Consider yourself warned. Nothing is as it seems.”

“But I don’t understand, Mulder,” she pleaded, hating the helplessness she could hear in her voice. She took a deep breath, determined to take Mulder’s hand and figure this out with him.

Mulder turned quickly and fiercely to her – but it wasn’t Mulder anymore – he had Krycek’s face.

“Nothing is what it seems, Scully,” Krycek sneered.

Scully woke with a start.

“You okay, Scully?” Mulder asked from the seat in front of her. They were still on the highway, but it was dawn; a thin sliver of orange was creeping up on the distant horizon. And they were in Virginia. Scully murmured to him that she was okay and was just beginning to sit up, brushing her hair from her damp forehead, when Mulder groaned. “Fuuuu….”

“What is it?”

“They saw us. They’re coming.”

She pulled herself up, looking around quickly. “The police?”

“FBI. Okay, Scully, we’re going to be arrested. Remember the plan – “ he was still driving, but moving onto the gravelly side of the highway, slowing down as a series of dark cars swarmed them – “And stay safe.”

“Mulder – “

I’m only safe with you, she wanted to tell him. I’m not ready for this, yet; I need more time – I don’t want to lose you, I don’t want you to go to jail, I’m not ready –

But there was no time to talk; a SWAT team was descending on their car from all sides, screaming at them and aiming to kill. Scully knew what would happen if they appeared to be resisting. Mulder turned off the car and squeezed her knee to give them both one last point of contact before raising his hands in surrender. She slowly opened her car door, raising her own hands in the air. Behind her, she could hear Mulder being grabbed, thrown to the ground, held down. Two agents seized her by the arms, dragging her into the shallow ditch on the roadside, pushing her down into the grass. One cuffed her roughly while the other frisked her for weapons. “She’s not packing!” he yelled, grabbing her wrists and lifting her painfully, dropping her on her tailbone into the gravel. “Where’s your gun?!” he yelled into her face, his spittle an insult against her skin.

“In… in the trunk…” she stammered, trying to turn her neck enough to see Mulder. She could hear the sound of another car pulling onto the roadside, doors slamming, men yelling orders. She craned her head as far as she could, but could still only catch a glimpse of the back of a black car. Somehow she knew Mulder was going to be taken in it.

“Stay safe!” Mulder called to her, and then the sound of his grunt echoed in the air as someone hit him. Scully choked on a curse and refused herself eye contact with these men, technically her colleagues, who were under orders to take the rogue agents by whatever means. She wouldn’t allow them the pleasure of seeing the pain and fear in her eyes.

More doors slamming; the black car peeling away, toward DC; Mulder inside of it.

Scully sat on the side of the road, hands tied behind her back, watching the SWAT agents tear apart her car from bumper to bumper. Using knives and scissors, they ripped through every seat, every floor mat, every tire. Emptying the glove box, one of the men scoffed: “Well, what do we have here?” and laughed as he tossed the marriage certificate onto Scully’s lap. “Looks like you are Mrs. Spooky after all,” he guffawed, his buddy whacking him on the back in amusement, and then he kicked her leg, hard, as he walked around her. She winced but wouldn’t let him see it. These people, and this system, would not take her down. If Mulder could overcome everything that had been done, and was still being done, to him, then she could certainly do the same.

She moved slowly so that she was sitting just over the certificate, and then picked it up, behind her back, and held onto it tightly. Beside her, cars slowed down as rush hour built up, drivers watching the scene unfolding with rapt interest. She lowered her face in embarrassment for a moment, then changed her mind, and tilted her chin upwards. If anyone should be embarrassed, it was the league of men who had infiltrated the government and were using innocent people as test subjects; not herself, and not Mulder. She stared back at curious drivers with intense purpose, letting them see her face. All of them were civilians, the very people she had sworn to protect. And she and Mulder would do just that, no matter what the cost to themselves.

One of the agents grabbed her roughly by the upper arm, pulling her to another waiting black car and tossing her inside. Her face hit the door as he pushed her in, but she swallowed her yelp and sat in the caged backseat like a warrior, awaiting the next battle. This was part of “the known unknown” that she and Mulder had talked about in New Mexico, and during their drive; it was going to be a difficult, painful uphill struggle for a while, and she was going to gird herself and get through it.

She had to, for Mulder’s sake. She had promised him, and Dana Scully was, above all else, a person who kept her promises.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But there it was again – the feeling she was being watched.

The vastness of the desert frightened her. Everything looked too far away, even the cloudless sky. There was nowhere you could hide in such emptiness.

― James Carlos Blake, The Rules of Wolfe

Dear Scully,

I’m going to try to send this letter out with Skinner next time he comes. I know he gives you updates, but I want to let you know in my own words that I’m okay. Battered and bruised, but okay. I miss you, Scully. Or should I call you Mulder, now? You don’t look like a Mulder. You will always be Scully to me, no matter what your legal name has become. We never discussed any of that. Maybe we should have, but talking about every little thing has never been our way. Does that change now? Or will it still be enough for me to read your face, and you to read mine?

I have to tell you, Scully, I don’t know how to be married. I’ve lived a very solitary life. You’re the closest I’ve ever been to anyone and I don’t want to mess it up. Even as a child, I didn’t have close friendships – I think you’ve figured that out about me. My family lived under the same roof, at least until my parents’ divorce, but we rarely spoke or spent time together. I haven’t spent a holiday with either of my parents in 15 years. I’ll bet that’s hard for you to wrap your mind around, isn’t it? Fifteen years of special occasions that have gone unnoticed and uncelebrated. I think my parents see them as any other day, and they don’t celebrate their days anymore. Not in a long, long time. Your family is close, and I like it, Scully, but I have to admit that it’s a little intimidating. I don’t know where I’ll fit in with this new arrangement, if at all. Do you think they’ll want me at holiday dinners? Will you want me there? I don’t know how to be married; much less in a marriage like this, and with a woman as independent as you are. I barely know how to take a woman on a date. Maybe we should have done that first, huh? Maybe I should have taken you for dinner before you promised your whole life to me. Then you would have known how incredibly awkward I can be in these situations. You might have changed your mind, though, and I’m awfully glad you didn’t.

Prison is hard, Scully, but not in the way you might think. I was in isolation for the first 48 hours and that was probably the hardest part. Did you know the human brain reacts to extreme sensory deprivation by creating its own experiences to which it can react? After the first 36 hours I began seeing and hearing things, thinking the building had been compromised and was going to explode, among other things. The scariest part was that I started to think you were gone. My warped thoughts were trying to convince me that you had packed up and left DC, not wanting anything to do with me anymore. Not that I could blame you, Scully, but it isn’t in your nature – and once I got released into the prison population, and had contact with humans again, I knew that had been untrue. I know you are waiting for me, Scully, safe and at home now, and you are praying for me every day. Skinner has been here twice now, and he keeps me in the loop. I still don’t know if I trust him, but he has been my only visitor and I rely on his information to get me through the long days and nights here. And it seems that he has been a good friend to you these past weeks. He told me that after your hearing he was able to post bail and get you home until the trial. I’m sure you know that bail won’t be happening for me. The judge says I’m too much of a flight risk. Apparently you’re not a flight risk when I’m locked up here; where do you think the court got that impression? I’m stuck here until the trial, which will hopefully come sooner than later. My lawyer is trying to get things moving quickly in that regard. Thank you, by the way, for arranging a lawyer for me, and for handling my bills and everything else while I’m in here. Skinner told me that you went to my father’s funeral, Scully, on my behalf. Thank you for that, too.

I wish I could see you in person, talk to you about these recent events. I have so many questions. The warden told me that they’re not allowing anyone but Skinner to visit so for now I can only get updates from him. I trust you to do everything you can “out there” to continue our investigation. I know the seeking of these truths has become as much your mission as it is mine, Scully, and I feel both glad to have you as a partner, and scared for your safety. Before we were separated, I told you to stay safe, and I want to keep telling you that. Illuminating certain truths may be worth my life, Scully, but not yours. I expect you to be alive and well at the end of this investigation. You hear me?

It’s almost lunchtime, Scully. We’re having chicken fingers and mashed potatoes today. I feel like I’m back in middle school, lining up in the cafeteria with my tray and my carton of milk. If you were here I would sit at your table and we could talk neurochemistry while the jocks flex their muscles at the table next to us. No, scratch that – I don’t want you here at all – I’d rather be out there, where you are. I hope to be soon.

Mulder

____________________

She read the letter three times before tucking it into the pages of a book, and then sliding the book back into the middle of a row of books on her bedroom shelf. If he had sent any clues in that letter, she had missed them – but she would read it again in the morning, with fresh eyes. All in all, Mulder had sounded like he was managing, although getting quite restless, she was sure: a crusader in chains was a miserable thing, indeed.

Seventeen days since Scully had been released on bail; seventeen days since Skinner had come to pick her up and drive her home, a muscle twitching next to his eye as he attempted calmness and understanding with her.

“I can’t apologize for saving Agent Mulder’s life,” she had said to him, and his fingers around the steering wheel had tightened to the point of pain. She had sighed, looking away from him. “I believe you would have done the same thing, sir.”

“I would NOT,” he grumbled at her, “have broken the law and gone MIA while using my badge and my weapon for personal reasons, Agent Scully. And I would NOT have stayed out of contact for so long.”

“But, sir – “

“I believe you think you did the right thing, Scully. My superiors think differently. Which is why you are suspended until further notice, or until your trial is over. Understood?”

His eye kept twitching.

“Yes, sir.”

He had dropped her off in front of her building, but not parked or offered to walk her up. Scully was glad for that; she didn’t want to feel obligated to offer him tea or make small talk. She had thanked him again for his support and headed upstairs, finally home.

This was the seventeenth night since that night, and as Scully buttoned her sweater she found herself still wondering if Mulder had eaten tonight, had been able to get some fresh air, had found anyone to talk to. Twenty-three days and nights without him, and the ache to connect with him hadn’t subsided; it only seemed to get worse. As she let the cashmere slide over the tender pink areas on her sides and back where the scars were slowly healing, she closed her eyes and let herself recall his hands on her body, doctoring her wounds after they had dug themselves out from beneath the earth. The old saying ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ may very well be true, Scully admitted to herself, clasping her necklace as the base of her neck. While a month ago she considered him her best friend and partner, and certainly the most important person in her life, she realized that she had grown in attraction to him and a feeling of missing a piece of herself when he wasn’t there. Is that love? She questioned briefly before shaking the thought out of her mind. No, surely not. It’s been an intense month, that’s all, and I’m used to being with him every day, and many nights, too. In New Mexico we were so close, out of necessity; we even shared a bed… I just have to readjust to my life here, now. Get back to normal.

But how could she do that? Scully’s life hadn’t been normal since partnering with Mulder; by her sixth month with him, “normalcy” involved anything from being chased by monsters she’d never imagined, to meeting sketchy informants in dark alleyways, to solving cases no one would believe, even when the evidence was in their hands. Scully herself couldn’t always believe the things they saw. Mulder – he was a different story – he was so quickly able to believe his own eyes, his own heart. He took things as they were presented and ran with them, consequences be damned; Scully admired that in him so much. Sometimes – often – she wished she could share a bit of that quality, too. Mulder would look at a conspiracy and call it a conspiracy; why couldn’t she do the same?

Because she was the counterbalance of his scale; she kept his equilibrium in check. I need to remember that now, she realized, throwing on her jacket. Even with all I’ve seen, and all I know, I need to keep trusting science, research, and the known elements, as Mulder trusts his instincts, his theories, and the unknown. I will do that – I will do that for Mulder, and for the sake of finding the truth.

She took one more look around her empty apartment, shut off the lamp, and locked up behind her as she left.

The Lone Gunmen were expecting her, but they still made her say the secret password and turn around in all directions in front of their multiple security cameras before Langley came to the door. Once inside, they settled around the desk, the trailer dark but for the flickering of computer screens and one dim light at the far end of the room. The small room smelled of burnt microwaved cheese, and ink, and the warm metal of the multiple devices that were humming and whirring around them.

Byers was anxious, tapping his feet against the floor as he spoke. “We’ve been looking into this water contamination, Agent Scully, and I’ve gotta say, it just doesn’t make sense. We hid cameras in his apartment and in the utility areas of the basement, and there’s been no activity. Why would someone have wanted to poison him then – what was he on the brink of?”

“I think it was the tapes, the transcripts,” Scully answered, “but he was being poisoned before he came into possession of those. That I don’t understand.”

“Did someone know he was in contact with that guy – Soona?” Langley asked.

“They must have,” Scully realized, and shook her head. “It makes me wonder if Soona told someone else – or if he was being followed.”

“Or maybe it was a set-up all along,” Frohike offered, and Scully shuddered.

“Okay,” Byers began slowly, standing up to pace the small room as he thought out loud, “So Soona gives the tapes to Mulder – because he wants the truth to be revealed. He knows Mulder will figure it out. Where did Soona get the tapes?”

“The Department of Defense,” Scully said.

“The Department of Defense. Soona gets the tapes, and someone knows it – the breach is discovered.”

“That part I can understand, but who knew the tapes went to Mulder?” Langley questioned.

“Someone who had connections on both sides,” surmised Byers. “Someone who had an ‘in’ with both the DOD and the FBI… maybe even knows Mulder personally.”

“And knows Krycek,” Scully said, rising from her chair as dread filled her chest. “Dammit!”

“Agent Scully, are you okay?” Frohike asked, watching her closely.

“Yes, I –” she began to grab her purse, reach for her jacket – “I’m just putting some of the pieces together, and I need to go – ”

“Keep us informed, please,” Byers said, moving towards the door with her. “We’re here for you.”

“Thank you,” Scully said, turning her face to the three men as her fingers pressed into the door knob. “But I really wish I could see Mulder right now.”

She left quickly, and the Gunmen stood in the window and made sure she got safely into her car, her small frame being swallowed up into the dark night as she scurried away.

_____________________

Scully left a voice message for Skinner as soon as she got home – “Please call me, Sir; I have something very urgent to discuss with you,” – and then made herself a cup of herbal tea, pacing her kitchen as the kettle boiled. As she stirred her cup, she had an uneasy feeling – as if there was someone in the room with her – and yet when she walked around, opened her larger cupboards, there was clearly no one there. She shook it off, judging it to be her own exhaustion, a touch of paranoia, and the long, dark drive home after speaking with the Lone Gunmen.

Revelations were occurring as quickly as synapses could fire in her sharp mind. Where Mulder thought in pictures, Scully thought in long strings of words, phrases, and paragraphs, and the words were moving so quickly she could hardly catch up with them. Phrases like high level conspiracy and branding humans against their will and possible cloning and all levels of government and Skinner may be involved and the abductions are a smokescreen all assaulted her as she gulped down the hot tea, ignoring that it was burning her throat a little. Too wound up to sleep, Scully went into her bedroom, with an instinct more than a thought fluttering against her chest. She went to her bookshelf, took out To Have and Have Not by Ernest Hemingway, and pulled Mulder’s letter out from within it. She settled against her pillows, reading the letter again and again, memorizing each word, each turn of the pen against the crisp white paper. Mulder cared for her deeply, and he missed her. Whatever their marriage was (and would end up being, down the road) they at least had that in common; and when they worked together, all things were possible.

She was just beginning to relax, and think about getting ready for bed, when she heard a sound in the living room. Scully startled, swinging her feet silently to the floor. She’d had to give Skinner her FBI gun, but she had her own, in a safe under the bed; she slid down onto her hands and knees to reach for it. But there it was again – the feeling she was being watched. Her heart pounded in her ears as she moved her hands around beneath the bed, not seeing the safe, but knowing it had been there yesterday.

Another noise from just outside the room; she stopped moving and sat still, on her knees, holding her breath.

This is where Mulder would move on instinct, Scully thought, her breath sharp and shallow and seeming loud in the painful quiet. This is where he would somehow know what to do.

But Scully figured things out in a different way; she needed to see things with her own eyes, make sense of them, put them against every test she knew and assess all the results for herself. She tiptoed to her closet and pulled out an old ceramic lamp base she had hoped to paint and restore, and then stood in the space behind her door, ready and waiting.

All she could do was wait.

And then the door knob turned, squeaked; Scully’s grip on her lamp-stand tightened; she could now feel the soreness in her throat from the scalding tea as she gulped dryly.

Her arm swung upwards, ready to strike. A large hand grabbed her wrist and held it away from her as a foot pushed open the door and a body barreled into her space.

“Don’t,” he said.

The lamp fell from her hand, shattering against the wood floor, and the sharp, breaking sound was deafening.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting on the edge of her bed, she looked over to her partner, who had the appearance of watching her even though his eyes weren’t actually on her. It was eerie; Scully found that her skin was breaking into goosebumps. “Mulder, we need to talk about what’s going on here…”

I will love you like the desert burns along the sun when they are together, and when you will be gone, just like every one else, I will cry for you like the snow that melts at the first hint of summer… and hoping that you’ll be back, I will miss you like the clouds lose themselves when it rains.

― Sanhita Baruah

“Mulder,” she gasped, and he dropped her wrist.

They were face to face in her bedroom doorway, eyes locked, breathing heavily; something unfamiliar flickered behind his eyes. He’s frightened, Scully thought, and reached for him.

Mulder accepted her embrace, allowing her small arms to wrap around his midsection and her palms to press into his back, but he didn’t return it. His muscles were tense beneath her hands, unmoving. “I… I’m sorry I scared you,” he said slowly.

Scully pulled back, watching his face. There was something different about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it; she hadn’t seen him in a month, and he had been through hell, so she supposed that was to be expected; still, she kept reaching for him, wanting to soothe and be soothed by his touch, but he wouldn’t respond. “It’s okay,” she replied, squeezing his fingers. “I’m just… so surprised to see you… How are you out of prison?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, eyes moving towards her closet. “Can you pack a bag? We have to get out of here.”

Scully shook her head. This was happening too quickly; she wanted to make him a cup of coffee, sit together at her kitchen table and let him fill in all the blanks, plan next steps together. Something about running right now felt terribly wrong.

“Mulder, you need to tell me how you got out of prison first. And where are we going? You can’t leave the state until after your trial. You know that. Mulder – ”

But Mulder wasn’t listening; he had already noticed her suitcase at the edge of her closet and was tossing it onto the bed, pulling it open. He moved back and forth between her closet and bed stealthily, grabbing armfuls of clothing and dumping it into the large bag. Deciding to cooperate – surely he would answer her questions as they got ready to leave – Scully grabbed socks, underwear, her toiletries bag, and added them to the pile. Mulder zipped up the bag and looked at her again, for the first time in several minutes. “Get dressed,” he ordered, and then seeing her expression, softened. “Please.”

It was after midnight, and the light of her bathroom seemed harsh as she quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater set. She ran a comb through her hair, thinking about Mulder’s sudden appearance and his lack of communication. There was something different about Mulder; that was for certain. He was quieter than usual, and rarely made eye contact; even his normally busy, fidgety body was still and solemn. His usual conspiratorial whispers with her had been replaced by a distant stare and shrugs of his shoulders that meant nothing to her. By the time Scully emerged from the bathroom, she had decided that she wasn’t going anywhere with him until he told her a few things – such as how, and why, he was out of jail – and what his plan was at this point. Were they in danger, again? Or were they running from the law? Maybe both. She was figuring some things out, too, and wanted a chance to tell him. Scully took a deep breath, girding herself for whatever truths she was about to discover, and opened the bathroom door.

Mulder was right outside of the door, and she startled as she almost stepped on his toes.

“Mulder,” she gasped.

He stared at her, his face unreadable. “I scared you again,” he said factually.

“It’s okay,” she replied, moving around him to grab her shoes. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she looked over to her partner, who had the appearance of watching her even though his eyes weren’t actually on her. It was eerie; Scully found that her skin was breaking into goosebumps. “Mulder, we need to talk about what’s going on here…”

“Don’t you trust me, Scully?” he asked quickly, coldly. Now his eyes met hers, grey-green in the room that was lit only by her bedside lamp, and full of an emotion that wasn’t quite anger, but was flooding her bloodstream with adrenaline nonetheless. “I told you we have to go quickly, and I meant it. I can explain things to you on the drive.”

“I…” she stammered, finding it difficult to get these particular words out, especially when she looked at him, and saw the face of the man who was her best friend – her husband, now – and the person she valued more than anyone else. What if he got impatient and left without her – putting himself in danger and leaving her out of the loop? Hold your ground, she commanded herself. He can give you five minutes of explanation before you leave. “I won’t go until we’ve talked,” she pronounced.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this right now,” he barked, his fists clenching. “Get in the damned car!”

Scully stood and walked towards him, suddenly full of self-righteous anger and spitfire. “Do NOT come into my apartment and order me around!” she yelled back. “I deserve an explanation! How did you get here? I’m happy to see you, Mulder, but you have to let me in! I don’t understand – “

Her voice halted in her throat as something in his eyes changed; there it was again, an unfamiliar movement just behind the pupils. Hazel turned to slate grey and his skin seemed to ripple, just under the surface. “Don’t make this difficult,” he grumbled from the base of his throat.

Realization hit her all at once. Her knees went weak for a second before she steadied herself, ready to fight for her life. “You’re not Mulder,” she stated with only the slightest tremble in her voice.

The man’s appearance shifted before her eyes: his face became harder, longer; his hair lightened to grey and shrunk shorter in his scalp; his clothes tightened as muscles expanded underneath the fabric; the seams over his biceps strained. He was more than a foot taller than Scully and likely more than twice her weight; his shallow breathing was like that of a lion hunting its prey. Scully turned on her heel, frantically scanning the room to find some kind of weapon she could use against him, knowing she had mere milliseconds to act.

Just as the tips of her fingers made contact with a glass vase on her dresser, she felt a rush of air behind her as the shapeshifter lunged at her, taking her down in one mighty tackle. She scrambled under him for purchase as he flipped her over, pushing her down with both arms and slamming her head against the wood floor. The beast straddled her stomach, choking her with his massive hands around her throat; his face intense, his jaw popping. Scully tried desperately to fight him, but her fists pounding and nails scratching against his chest and arms were meaningless; he didn’t so much as flinch when she wrapped her hands around his wrists and twisted at the flesh as hard as she could. He was a monster, and she didn’t stand a chance.

As her oxygen ran out, Scully took solace in the knowledge that Mulder was still in prison, safely locked in a cell, lonely but alive. If she came out of this alive, she would keep fighting for his freedom, and for the truth.

Even beastly monsters won’t keep me from you, Mulder, Scully thought as the room began to fade and her body fell limp. They can’t… stop me… But let them try…

_____________________________

Mulder woke at dawn, having tossed and turned most of the night. In the month he’d been incarcerated, he had grown accustomed to the sounds of the prison block: guards pacing back and forth across the long hallway; a cough, a sneeze, water running; an occasional outcry from another prisoner, having a bad dream or suffering from pain. The first week he had barely slept at all; by now, Mulder could sleep through the night, surprised each morning when he woke fairly well-rested at the sound of the morning bell.

His cellmate was a man named Terry who was accused of participating in a robbery, and was also awaiting trial. He told everyone he met of his innocence, and when he discovered that Mulder was an FBI agent, he spent hours upon hours following him around, explaining to Mulder how he couldn’t have been at the robbery – his girlfriend was eight months pregnant and he wouldn’t have done that to her – and he was helping his friend move that day – plus if he had robbed that family like the police said, where was the money? Because he sure as hell didn’t have it.

“I’m currently suspended from the FBI,” Mulder would remind him repeatedly, some days more patiently than others. “You know I can’t do anything for you right now.”

“But you gotta do something, man,” Terry would insist, watching Mulder with an expectant stare. “Someone’s gotta help me. I can’t spend my life in here.”

Mulder had the same fears, but couldn’t talk to Terry – or anyone else – about them. He really just wanted to see Scully, to feel her warm, soft fingers twining around his own, to communicate without speaking… maybe, if he dared, to hold her awhile, and rest his cheek against the top of her head. He wished she would let him do that more often.

Scully was the only person he wanted to talk to these days, but she had been prohibited from visiting, leaving his thought patterns spinning in circles. As well as being the only person he could trust, Scully was the force that took all of his manic energy and drew it into a central place, cleared his mind, and focused him in (usually) the right direction. He missed her presence more than he could express.

At dawn, with just the slightest hint of a sunrise peeking its way onto the horizon, Mulder stirred and woke. Terry was in the top bunk, snoring softly; Mulder sat up and stretched his neck, watching the sun emerge. He hadn’t slept well at all, and he could feel the tiredness seeping through his bones like dampness. He wished he could go for a run; that always helped before, when he hadn’t slept well. Going for a run, having a long, hot shower, and then spending time with Scully: the perfect day trifecta, in his previous life. It wasn’t going to happen in here, though.

At breakfast, Mulder managed to sit alone, preferring the quiet this morning. He picked at his toast and scrambled eggs, gulped down the warm coffee, and stared some more out the window, noting the slow, easy way that the clouds moved across the sky. He wondered, absently, if Scully had looked at the same clouds this morning. Once they had argued about clouds; he had insisted that sometimes there were paranormal ectoplasm clusters that only looked like clouds, and she had rolled her eyes so hard he’d had to choke back a laugh. He would never admit it to her, but occasionally he would say things just to get that eye roll out of her, and God, was it ever worth it when it worked. She had argued with him for fifteen minutes about how clouds are nothing more than condensed water vapor, Mulder, and then launched into the history of the studies of weather and cloud formations and how his ideas could be almost dangerous because they border on old religious notions of clouds being angel beds or signs from God and Mulder was only half-listening because he loved the sound of her voice when she was all worked up like that and the huffs of her breath and the way her hair swished around her face as she shook her head at him.

He would have to write her another letter this afternoon.

“Hey, FBI,” a guard barked at him, slamming his palm against Mulder’s table and shaking him from his reverie, “You have a visitor. Put your crap away and follow me.”

The visitor, of course, was Skinner. Mulder was ushered into the visitor’s room, where there were only a couple of other inmates sitting with their parents, their wives. Skinner warily watched Mulder approaching, then sighed deeply as he sat down.

“Have you talked to Agent Scully?” Skinner asked, his eyes dark and serious.

“Of course not, sir. I was told she and I were to have no contact and I have no phone privileges. Why?”

Skinner leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with frustration. “She’s missing.”

Mulder jumped up quickly, causing a guard to appear at his side and place a meaty hand on his shoulder. He brushed the guard off, mumbling, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and sat back down, glaring at his boss. He made sure to lower his voice, leaning in to do so. His heart pounded loudly in his ears; he could feel his blood pressure rising. “How can that be?”

Skinner looked like he might be sick, and rubbed his face with his hand. “I don’t know, Mulder. She called me late last night because she thought she was on to something – she had something important to discuss with me, she said. This morning I called her back, twice, but there was no answer, so I went to her apartment.”

“And?”

“There was no sign of a break-in at the door, but there was damage in her bedroom and it looked like she had either left in a hurry or…”

Mulder tapped his fingers against the table, knowing what was coming next, but not wanting it to be said aloud. None of this should be happening; much of his strategy since leaving New Mexico had been about keeping Scully safe, letting her be in her own apartment, living her life as normally as possible. Scully didn’t know this, but he had made an agreement with Skinner to fully cooperate and testify truthfully if Scully would be released on bail and allowed to be in her own home, with Skinner checking on her daily. Skinner, up to this point, had kept his end of the bargain. Suddenly, waiting for Skinner to say the words caused Mulder’s stomach to clench, and he cast his gaze down to the pale grey table in front of him.

“…Or was removed,” Skinner finally finished.

“You have to get me out of here,” Mulder whispered. “I can find her, Skinner… I can help her.”

“Agent Mulder, I think you’re forgetting the seriousness of your offenses and the judge’s ruling. You have NO chance of bail or bond being posted. And I don’t want to hear anything about you making plans to escape or – or doing something stupid!”

Five minutes ago, Mulder would have agreed to that; he had resigned himself to doing his time and awaiting his trial peaceably as long as Scully was safe. Her endangerment changed everything.

“I can’t promise anything right now, sir.”

Skinner grunted his disapproval. “Mulder, as your boss – and a federal employee – I shouldn’t even be having this conversation with you. I can let you know that I have already reported Scully as a missing person and I will do my damnedest to find her. I will personally supervise and assist the Missing Persons team that’s on her case. Do you hear me?”

Mulder offered up a slight nod, but in truth, he wasn’t listening anymore. All he heard now was his own pounding heartbeat, the sound of the ocean roaring in his ears, and Scully’s voice, in the far, barren distance, screaming for help.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fire was beginning to ignite in her chest and move its way outwards, to her limbs, to the tips of her fingers and the curve of her lips. She stared at him, now, unfazed, preparing herself to take this operation apart from the inside, even if it killed her.

The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark. The small truth has words which are clear; the great truth has great silence.

\- Rabindranath Tagore

Maggie Scully’s house was a mess. Contractors and workers were coming and going all day, well into the evening; there was drywall dust everywhere (even on the counters, which she personally cleaned last night before bed), and the constant noise and vibrations of table saws and electric drills was starting to make her feel flustered. Why did I decide to finish the basement? she chuffed to herself as she washed her produce over the kitchen sink. She silently prayed that the job would be finished sooner than planned, so she could have her house back to herself. But still, it would be worth it to have a space downstairs for the grandchildren to play, and an extra bedroom and bathroom for Charlie and his partner when they came to visit. She planned to insist that all of her children and grandchildren came for Christmas this year and stayed a few days, and she wanted it to be just right. I suppose I can deal with this chaos a bit longer, she thought, laying the apples on a towel to dry.

She hadn’t always been such a patient person, Maggie mused as she tidied up from lunch. When the children were small – four children in seven years – she’d had moments of yelling suddenly, locking herself in the bathroom to cry, or even, on a rare and embarrassing occasion, getting so angry with the antics of the children that she would throw a plate or a toy as she screamed at them. She saw the same qualities in Dana, sometimes: a quiet, dignified reserved that, when unhinged, unleashed a fury like no other. Dana had a heart of gold and a will of iron; she would be fiercely loyal to the person she loved, one day, Maggie considered. The plates clinked delicately into the dishwasher, one by one, dripping softly on the floor around her feet; a breeze through the window tousled Maggie’s dark hair. Someday, Dana will fall in love, and how lucky that person will be to have her. But God help those who try to hold her back!

The kitchen tidier, Maggie pulled on her sweater and called to the lead contractor that she was going for a walk and would be home in a couple of hours. She tossed an apple and a bottle of water into her bag, along with a book, intending to sit on a park bench and read all morning, outside of this dusty, noisy house. Outside, the air was mild with a gentle breeze, and the sky was overcast with snippets of sunshine peeking through. Maggie preferred going to the park in the morning, as the young mothers walked through with their little ones, and babies in strollers; Maggie so enjoyed greeting them, and sometimes getting a baby smile or coo in return. As much as she was glad her own children were grown now, she supposed there would always be part of her that would miss the days of sticky, clumsy toddlers climbing on her lap, pulling her hair, calling “Mama” from their cribs at six in the morning. Some of her friends didn’t miss those days at all, but Maggie felt that she had been born to be a mother, and those years had been, for the most part, full of joy. Exhaustion, yes, and frustration, at times; but mostly joy.

As Maggie locked her front door, she heard a car pulling in to the driveway; turning, she was surprised to see FBI Assistant Director Skinner parking there. She shielded her eyes and walked towards him, suddenly filled with dread. Dana would have to be seriously injured or even –

No, no, I won’t even think it.

Skinner looked as though he wished he had a hat to tip in her direction. Standing at the bottom of her porch steps, he looked up at Maggie solemnly, bowing his head slightly. “Mrs. Scully,” he began.

“What is it? Is it Dana?” she couldn’t help but stammer out, her heart beating rapidly.

“Yes, I’m sorry to say. She’s gone missing.”

“Again?”

He nodded, not catching her eye.

“How? Who’s taken her? Where could she be?”

“We’re trying to figure that out, ma’am – “

“You must! You have to find her!” Maggie had started down the steps towards him, not sure now if she was coming or going. She couldn’t possibly go read in the park, not now – someone might call about Dana, and she would need to be near the phone. She turned on her heel and started back up again.

“Mrs. Scully, I need to ask you a favor. I’m giving you my personal numbers – “ he handed her a card – “and I need you to call me, day or night, if you hear anything from Dana, or about her.”

“Of course,” Maggie whispered, pressing the card against her abdomen. “And… what about Fox? He must be beside himself.”

Skinner nodded again. “He would like to be on the search team, but that’s impossible, what with his … incarceration. He’s doing everything he can from prison. Since they were married their bond is even greater than before. He got angry with the warden last night, and was placed back in solitary confinement.”

“What?” Maggie said sharply. She had been staring at the trees behind him, but now her eyes met his, bright and curious. “Did you just say married?”

“I… I think I misspoke,” Skinner back-pedaled, horrified to realize that Scully had not yet told her mother, and he had just broken the news with the gracefulness of a Mack truck.

“Mr. Skinner,” Maggie said slowly, curving his business card in the palm of her hand, “you tell me right now. Are Dana and Fox married?”

He sighed. “They are.”

“How long?”

“About a month.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” Maggie breathed out, leaning against the railings.

“I’m sure she meant to, ma’am. The situation has been… less than ideal lately…”

“I know that!” Maggie snapped, and then sucked in a deep breath, calming herself down. “Thank you, Mr. Skinner, for coming all this way to keep me informed. It’s very much appreciated.”

As Skinner drove away, she stood on her porch and watched his dark car disappearing into the horizon. Her fiery, feisty daughter always kept her guessing – but this was a lot, even for Dana. Maggie took the cordless phone from the kitchen and settled in on her porch swing, phone next to her with Skinner’s numbers tucked underneath, a book in her lap, and her mind on Dana, Fox, and all the trouble in which they had found themselves.

_______________________

The swishing of tree branches and leaves against a window stirred Scully into wakefulness. She tried to move her arms but felt the pressure of the rope against her wrists, which were pulled behind her back; she whimpered against the long piece of duct tape plastered over her mouth. All she could see as she craned her neck was part of a wall, a small window, and trees just outside of it.

God, her neck hurt. She remembered suddenly, with a shudder, the point of no return – the shapeshifter sitting heavily on her torso, his huge hands around her throat. There was a moment she had known that she wouldn’t be able to escape him, and it had been terrifying.

Somehow she was less terrified now: they wouldn’t have taken her for no reason. And they clearly wanted her alive.

Scully groaned as she turned carefully from her stomach onto her side, and then her back. She was stiff, certainly, but didn’t feel any breaks or serious damage as she wiggled her legs, then her arms, then rotated her shoulders as much as she could in her position. The branches scraped constantly against her window pane like long, sharp fingertips, and the wind howled sadly; she wished she could see outside better, try to figure out where she might be hidden away. She closed her eyes to listen to all she could: voices (none that were familiar, yet); the types of birds outside; the possible sound of a road or highway in the distance. Nothing was helping her to place herself.

The door swung open with a thud, and Scully scrambled in her supine position, using her bent legs to turn herself quickly back over. As her eyes met with the person in the doorway, she gasped from under the humid piece of duct tape, and then shook her head in disgust.

The “late” Alex Krycek, living and breathing, stood in the frame of the door, sneering at her.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Scully,” he said as he walked towards her, seating himself next to her on the bed. “There’s work for you to do here.”

She could smell formaldehyde and something else, something unfamiliar, on his hands as he touched her forehead with one hand and pulled the tape from her mouth with the other. His fingers were cool and dry like lizard skin; Scully bit back the urge to spit at him.

“Mulder is in jail because of you,” she said venomously, lifting her feet as he moved to untie them.

“Not my problem,” he retorted, pulling roughly at the rope.

“You’re a liar and a coward,” she raged at him. “You would let a good man suffer and be locked away for your own gain? I knew you were a miserable son-of-a-bitch, Krycek, but this seems even too low for you.”

“Are you kidding?” he joked, slapping her ankles jovially as they came free and tossing the rope to the floor. “I’ve killed for the cause, Scully, and I’ll do it again. Getting Mulder locked up was nothing. In fact – ” he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a sitting position, leaning in to whisper in her ear as his hands found the rope on her wrists—“I enjoyed it.”

“You bastard,” she breathed.

He laughed again, mocking her. “It’s sweet that you’re such a do-gooder, Agent Scully, such an honest little soldier. Mulder is lucky to have you.” He sat back, assessing her. “But you’re needed here, now.”

She hadn’t realized how tense her shoulders and arms were until the rope was released and she had mobility again. She swung her arms back and forth, bent her elbows, rolled her neck, and watched Krycek watching her. “And what am I here for, exactly?” she asked warily.

“Come with me and find out,” he replied, moving her to the door.

He walked uncomfortably close to her down a long, narrow flight of stairs and through a small cottage living room. As the door opened into the next room – which Scully had assumed, by the appearance of the cabin, would be a kitchen – she gasped in surprise and horror.

The room was not at all homelike, and was, in fact, a laboratory of some kind. It was larger than she ever would have ever guessed, with no windows, long stainless steel tables lining each wall, and three scientists or lab technicians moving about the room, checking temperatures and making notes. On three of the four long tables there were rows and rows of fetuses – whether alien, or human, or some hybrid of the two, Scully couldn’t tell for sure – in glass jars, surrounded by opaque fluid, their umbilical cords floating around them.

The scientist and the doctor in Scully was immediately fascinated and wanted to learn every detail; the woman in her – the human being – was horrified at the sight of small, living creatures in glass jars, being used for God only knew what purpose. She wondered what Mulder would do first, if he were here.

“What are they?” she whispered to Krycek, who was scanning the room with his beady eyes, as if he was supervising the work (which he was not, Scully knew; he was neither that smart nor that useful).

“Test subjects,” he smirked, as if he had thought of it all himself. “Cloning. We’re on the cusp of creating the first human-alien hybrid, Scully – and it will save humankind one day.”

Scully alternated glaring at Krycek and watching the scientists, who seemed unhindered by her presence, as they monitored the tubes and took samples of fluids. One went to a lab desk at the back of the room and put a series of vials into a centrifuge, locked it up, and turned it on. Another wandered over to him, clipboard in hand, murmuring his questions too quietly for her to eavesdrop.

“Save us from what?” she asked.

“That’s for us to know,” he smirked, walking in ahead of her, “and you to find out.”

Scully followed him along one long aisle, taking as many mental notes as she could as she passed by each jar. In terms of gestation, these fetuses would be between twenty and thirty weeks (if they were human); if alien, she supposed they could be anything from just formed to almost ready for…

Ready for what?

“Will they be… born?” she asked, reaching out tentatively to touch one of the jars. Inside, the fetus turned gracefully in its embryotic fluid. She couldn’t tell if it was alive, or conscious, or just tissue, at this point.

“We don’t know yet,” Krycek said, leading her to the scientist whom she had now surmised was in charge of the operation. “Wallace, this is the doctor I told you about.”

Dr. Wallace, an elderly man with gray-black hair and a stern expression, looked her over briskly. “We don’t have a lot of time to complete this,” he announced. “You’ll have to learn quickly.”

She dipped her head in agreement, falling in step behind him.

There was a large, cold, metal cabinet whose drawers creaked as if burdened by the weight of the secrets it held. A burst of frozen air hit the side of Scully’s face as the middle drawer was pulled open. Dr. Wallace motioned for Scully to look inside; watching him as she moved to his front; her hands and her eyes reached the contents at the same moment.

“These are the human ova,” he said bluntly.

Indeed, there were boxes and boxes of ova in vials, each box with a woman’s name on it. The realization of how, and when, these samples were taken was like a punch in the gut; Scully put her hand on her forehead as she thought about all of the implications. So many women; so many abductions; so many people left infertile because, against their will and without their knowledge, that which would give them children is being used to create unnatural – and potentially incredibly dangerous – creatures.

“Are there… are there more labs like this?” she choked out.

Wallace stared at her for a moment, making it clear that he was not going to answer the question, before stepping back. “You’ll find what you need under ‘S’,” was all he would offer.

Scully knelt down before the ice-cold storage cabinet, but her shivering was not from the cold. Somehow she already knew what she was about to find, and that it would change her life, in some way or another, forever. This drawer, too, creaked as she pulled it open.

“Scully, Dana” read the label on the box. And there they were, the vials of her ova, stolen from her body while she lay unconscious in an unknown place. Stolen by men like these, with hearts of stone and a will to survive whatever alien war they presumed was coming – a will that was powerful enough to trump all human care or decency.

“What do you do with them?” she asked, but her voice was so hushed she wasn’t sure if he would hear her question.

He stared at her again, in an unnerving fashion, his bloodshot eyes grey and rarely blinking. It seemed as if he stared right through her. “We harvest them,” he said, finally. “We create hybrids, as you have seen already.”

“Yes, I see that,” Scully said, and was pleased to find she had found her voice again, after the initial shock of what she had discovered beneath her hand. A fire was beginning to ignite in her chest and move its way outwards, to her limbs, to the tips of her fingers and the curve of her lips. She stared at him, now, unfazed, preparing herself to take this operation apart from the inside, even if it killed her. An eerie sense of calm filled her; she tilted her chin up as she waited for his answer. “How?”

“Various methods,” he drawled vaguely, holding her gaze. In her periphery, Krycek pretended to look over some data at the desk. “You’ll be part of it, too.”

“Like hell,” she spat out, taking the two vials of ova that had, at one time, been housed in her own body… She looked around the room quickly for some way to transport them – and her gaze fell upon a small cryopreservation unit with a handle on the top; she moved quickly to it, glanced at Wallace once more before opening it, and finding it empty, placed the vials inside.

“You’re not taking those anywhere,” Wallace grinned, as if amused by her; from his corner perch, Krycek stood up and took a couple of steps toward them.

“They belong to me,” Scully said plainly, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle of the small case. “I didn’t give you permission to use them for your disgusting trials.”

“Disgusting?” Wallace laughed, and then all the other men working in the room began to look his way, chuckling in tandem. “Doctor Scully, you of all people should know that colonization is coming. All the crazy speculation your partner goes on about? He’s not all wrong.”

“You know nothing about my partner.”

“Oh, that’s not true, not true at all. I know – we know – many things about Agent Mulder and the work the two of you are doing. Those tapes you were given? That’s the tip of the iceberg. We were surprised, however, that you were able to put it all together so… efficiently.” He reached out, imploring her to pass the freezer back to him; she held it closer.

Machines beeped and liquid bubbled around them; the three scientists, and Krycek, all stepped a little closer, their stares becoming more intense. Scully’s flesh pebbled with goosebumps, but she held her ground.

“Doctor Scully,” Wallace said again, and though she knew it was highly unlikely, Scully could hear his condescending use of her name echoing again and again, and if the other men were saying it too – was she hearing their thoughts? The room began to spin slowly. “You were brought here for a very specific reason. You are one of the women who have already been readied for this process – your body has been prepared, over the past year, for this purpose.”

“What purpose is that?” she asked, refusing to step back even as the gang of men in their pristine white coats moved in closer.

“I think you know,” he replied.

She had a good guess – but she needed to hear him say it. Krycek, now almost at Wallace’s side, smirked at her knowingly. 

“Haven’t you always wanted to be a mother, Scully?” Krycek mocked.

Wallace shushed the other man, motioning to Scully again to hand over the cryopreservation unit, which was cold and slippery in her sweaty hands. She moved it within her arms, holding it like a fragile parcel against her chest. She pursed her lips at them in disdain.

“We’re giving you a wonderful opportunity,” Wallace said, and grinned in his conniving way once again. “The opportunity to do something great for all of humankind. The chance to make a real difference. Isn’t that why you joined the FBI in the first place? Why you went into medicine?”

“Because I value life – human life,” Scully told him. “Not this – this abomination – this use of genetic material to create unnatural life forms, monsters – I did not go into medicine for this. Those vials of human ova, the women and the families that lost them, those are the lives I swore to protect.”

“You’re very high and mighty now,” crooned Wallace, “but will you be saying that when the invasion happens, Doctor Scully?”

“There’s no invasion coming,” Scully said flatly, with more certainty than she now felt.

“This is all irrelevant, Doctors,” Krycek said suddenly, and Wallace nodded in his direction.

“True enough, Alex. Doctor Scully, you were one of the chosen ones. Your body has been prepared for this procedure. You should count yourself very lucky, then; very lucky indeed, to be one of the few who is ready and able to do this great work.”

“And what work is that?” Scully breathed.

The men had inched closer; one now stood at each of her sides, and she felt their cool, muscular hands gripping her arms as she continued to stare down Doctor Wallace. A quick glance at each of them informed her that they were not much more than drones, following orders; it would be of no use to try to get their cooperation. Wallace’s sneer turned into a grimace.

“You’re going to be our first human incubator,” he explained, finally.

The room spun a little more, and though Scully willed herself to fight them, to run, she found she could not. “No,” she said simply, shaking her head.

“Oh, yes, Doctor Scully,” Wallace replied, murky gray eyes twinkling as he retrieved a syringe filled with bright green fluid from his pocket; he tapped it in preparation as he stepped towards her, and the hands around her biceps tightened, holding her in place. “You’re going to carry the first human-alien hybrid life form to term, in your own womb.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the verdict was not guilty, he would run from the courtroom and begin his search for Scully, taking down anyone who tried to stand in his way; if he was declared as guilty, he would do the same. One way would be as a legally free man; the other would make him a fugitive. Mulder didn't care anymore. He needed to find her.

But freedom is an illusion, anyway.

― Nenia Campbell, Fearscape

 

Dear Scully,

I’m worried about you. It’s been 3 days since you went missing and the search team hasn’t found a single lead. I’m pacing my cell like a caged tiger, desperate to get out there and find you myself. I would find you, Scully, I swear I would, if they would just give me a few days out of here. I just got out of solitary again this morning – that’s a long story that I’d rather tell you about in person. They did get my court date moved up to Monday, though, which I guess is good news. Faheem says he has no idea how it’s going to go; he says has a solid defense, especially since there was no body found, but he thinks the prosecutor is feeling confident too. I wish you could be there Monday, Scully, and I wish you were home right now. I should never have brought you into this shit-show and I’m sorry.

I have the cell to myself right now. I don’t mind the quiet. Solitary was rough, but at least this time I knew what to expect. When the voices started, I talked right back to them, and told them to go to hell. I was there for 48 hours and then came back to an empty cell, with limited outside time, but it was good to be around people again. While I was in there, they wouldn’t give me any updates about you, and it was hard not knowing, but it also let me hold onto the hope that you had been found, or come home, and that your absence was explained, and that you were okay. It was like another sucker-punch to be brought back into the mainstream and told that there was no news to report and you were still missing. Where are you, Scully? Who has you? What are they doing with you? You’re all I can think about. Get home, Scully, in any way you can. You get home and I’ll get home and we’ll figure things out from there. Deal?

It’s the end of June but it’s been so cool that it feels like Fall these days. I had outdoor time this morning and it was chilly and damp. It reminded me of last Fall, when we started using lunch breaks to walk over to the deli on 10th Street, the one with the chicken salad sandwiches that you liked. Looking back, that seems like such a simple time. But we didn’t appreciate it then, did we? And we didn’t do that often enough. Let’s do it again, Scully, when things are back to normal. I’ll buy you as many sandwiches as you can eat, and I’ll drink half of your Diet Coke even though I always tell you I hate Diet Coke. I do hate it, but somehow when it’s yours, it tastes better. Everything with you is better. 

You’re such a fighter, Scully. You’re the strongest person I know. I believe you’ll come through this, and you’ll probably kick my ass later for even worrying about you. I can’t wait to hear your voice again, and to argue with you, and to see you smile. Please be safe, and get home soon. Today. This minute.

Mulder.

_________________________

Mulder folded up the newest letter and tucked it into his book, along with the others. He found it therapeutic to write to Scully as much as possible, sometimes several times in a day. Evening was falling on day three of her disappearance, and the likelihood of her being found alive, he knew, decreased significantly each day. Bile rose in his throat when he thought about it, and he pushed it down. No. She was alive and he would give her these letters one day, and she would probably tease him for being such a sap. They would eat at many more cheap diners and stay in many more seedy motels and keep fighting for truth and for life. Mulder wasn’t going to have it any other way.

He put his book under his mattress and started his evening exercise routine, the sun setting outside of his small square window, turning his cell into shades of orange and brown and making the shadows seep darkly into the cement around him.

_______________________

“It’s you, Doctor Scully,” Dr. Wallace grinned, something behind his eyes shifting menacingly. “It’s you who will carry the first human-alien hybrid baby to term, right here in this lab.”

“I’ll kill you first,” Scully spat at him, struggling against the men who held her arms on each side.

“Don’t fight it, Scully, it’s your destiny,” Krycek mocked her from a few feet away. 

Dr. Wallace took another step forward, and another, lifting the syringe in his hand and tapping it with the tip of a finger. Something green bubbled at the top, and he nodded, pleased with what he saw. Three seconds, Scully thought, and that toxin will be in my bloodstream.

One.

There was a moment in which everything slowed, stilled, and blurred; but then her senses sharpened, bringing perfect clarity.

The gun in Krycek’s waistband.

The goon on her left had less of a hold than the one on her right.

Dr. Wallace being arrogant – cocky, even – about his superiority over her, over all of them, over the human race. In the bubble of his own internal ego-stroking he was failing to see what she could.

Two.

Scully stopped moving, taking a deep breath. The whirring and beeping of the machines seemed to slow around her; there was a rustle of air against her legs, and then everything sped up.

Three.

With a sudden twist, Scully freed herself from the man’s grip on her left bicep, then hurled all of her weight towards Krycek, grabbing the gun from his hip just as he reached for it himself. 

“Dammit! Scully!” Krycek yelled, lunging towards her; but she was already turning back to face him and the other men, the gun aimed at their surprised faces.

“Tie them up,” she ordered Krycek. 

“Fuck you,” he snarled, but there was a waver in his voice that she recognized as uncertainty.

“DO IT!” she commanded, refocusing the gun at his head.

They stared each other down for a long moment before he finally huffed at her in disgust and then took a piece of rope from the shelf behind him. He motioned the three men to stand together – “By the pipe,” Scully directed, wanting them attached to something structural – and as they shuffled into place, Dr. Wallace turned towards her with a glare.

“You’re sabotaging the survival of humankind, Doctor Scully,” he chastised her.

“I don’t believe that,” she told him sharply.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. We have been working tirelessly on this project for years and we know the facts.”

“Why Mulder and me?” she demanded, planting her feet firmly apart for steadiness. She was ready to shoot any of them if they made a move. The two scientists had clearly not been prepared for this much of a fight, and were standing back, watching; Krycek and Wallace, she knew, were a different story.

“You made that part so easy, Doctor Scully,” Wallace smirked. “After your – what do you call it? Abduction? – the other part of our team had already started the process. We had your ova, and they let you survive, let you go back to your life. Your body was prepared for the process, but of course you didn’t know that part.” He chuckled as Scully furrowed her brows. “We just had to get that Agent Mulder out of the way to complete the process. He is a hard one to get rid of, isn’t he. We thought the tapes would make him do something crazy, and he would be killed or incarcerated, but it didn’t play out that way. Then we thought the LSD in his water supply would make him go mad and go on the run. After all of that we had to make it look like he’d killed Alex just to get him put away.” The doctor sighed, as if the retelling of all of these details made him weary. “So here we are, with your tenacious partner behind bars and you with us, your system already filled with the hormones necessary for the implant, and your ova right beside you.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Scully informed him coolly. 

Wallace chuckled again. “You’ve seen too much, you know,” he said, the lightness of his tone doing little to mask his heavy words. “If you choose to make this difficult, we will have to destroy you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Scully glared at him, her arm steady. She held his gaze, defiant; suddenly he leapt toward her, arms flailing as his hand made contact with the gun.

The shot was loud and fierce; seeming to set fire to the room that was already sparking with fear and tension. Across the room, the freezer full of stolen ova screeched loudly and then gave out, falling silent and still. One of the men moved to fix it, but was held back in place by the other. Whoosh, click, whoosh, click, went the machines that were straining to create and to house false life; but after a moment, they fell silent, too.

“Look what you’ve done!” one of the men cried out.

Blood pooled at Scully’s feet, crimson seeping into the fabric of her shoes, ebbing into the creases of the tile floor, and trickling in a long, narrow line towards the exit, escaping the corrupt and vile room, as the body that had created it crumpled to the floor.  
__________________________________

Mulder’s lawyer was a short, stout man that would have reminded him of an Iranian version of Scully’s father, if he’d ever had the chance to know Ahab. He was smart and no-nonsense, but with a gleam in his eye that suggested he could be game for mischief if the opportunity came about. When he arrived in the courthouse on Monday morning, Mulder thought right away that something was happening; he began rocking on the balls of his feet in anticipation of news. News about Scully would be especially welcome, and he still held out hope every minute that someone would give him good news.

“A couple of things,” Faheem began.

“Scully?” Mulder asked, unable to wait for the man to get around to the issue. 

“I’m sorry, no,” Faheem sighed, shaking his head sadly.

“Dammit,” Mulder seethed, holding himself by sheer will in his place. Any movement that appeared aggressive and he would be back in solitary again – and he couldn’t risk it, not at this point. His trial was moments away, and Faheem was positive enough about a verdict of not guilty that Mulder was willing to hang on a few more days. If things didn’t go that way, well, that would be something else to deal with. To hell with the consequences, Mulder had decided while tossing and turning the night before: if found guilty, he was going to break out of confinement and find his Scully.

“Make sure you look innocent in there,” Faheem suggested, and Mulder chuffed at him.

“I am innocent.”

“Yes, well… make sure it shows. Also, this is your last chance to take a plea deal if you decide…”

“I’m not taking a deal,” Mulder said, and not for the first time.

The guard at the door motioned for them to proceed, and Faheem patted Mulder’s shoulder in solidarity. “Good luck today,” he said. The guards that surrounded them moved to the side, allowing them to pass.

“Same to you,” Mulder retorted, only half-joking. The doors to the courtroom opened slowly, and the group of men shuffled solemnly forward, the prisoner in the middle of them.

______________________________

The trial lasted only four days. By the final day, emotionally exhausted and desperate for Scully to be safe, Mulder dragged himself into the courtroom and stood for the judge. He saw Maggie in the courtroom audience, and gave her a weak smile, trying to convey his thanks. She only nodded back, her eyes full of sadness. His own mother wasn’t there, hadn’t been there at all, but Mulder understood that these situations were just too difficult for her to handle. She was fragile, already broken; he preferred to believe she did her best with the little psychological strength she had left. 

The judge went to her bench; the jury was called in. Short moments felt like hours, waiting for the verdict, and the adrenaline coursing through Mulder’s veins was the only thing keeping him going. If the verdict was not guilty, he would run from the courtroom and begin his search for Scully, taking down anyone who tried to stand in his way; if he was declared as guilty, he would do the same. One way would be as a legally free man; the other would make him a fugitive.

Mulder didn’t care anymore. He needed to find her.

The foreman of the jury stood, his face pale against the bright blue shirt he wore. “We the jury,” he said calmly, precisely, in a practiced tone, “find the defendant, Fox Mulder, guilty of murder in the second degree.”

There was murmuring in the galley; Maggie gasped and then began to cry. Faheem put his hand on Mulder’s back, squeezing his shoulder, mumbling something in his ear about appealing the verdict and that this wasn’t the end. Mulder was beginning to tune out everything around him as he prepared for his escape. He was cuffed but his ankles weren’t shackled, which meant he could run – and he was a fast runner – but there were multiple barriers between himself and freedom (or something like it). Coming in each day, he had paid close attention to all of the bailiffs at their posts, which ones looked toughest, where weaknesses may lie. The one posted at the courtroom door was one of the stronger ones, watching Mulder closely and ready for action. Further down the hall, there were two who might be easier to get past, but Mulder’s plan was to turn left outside of the door and flee down the stairwell, go through the basement and out through the back of the building, where there were delivery doors. Barring a bailiff or officer being right outside of the door before him, Mulder only had to get past this one man. If he made it, he could head straight to the Gunmen and ask for their help in finding Scully; if not, he would likely be locked up for a very, very long time.

“Here goes nothing,” he whispered to himself, angling his chair towards the exit.

“What?” asked Faheem, just as Mulder sprang to his feet.

His point of vision became that one man standing guard at the door, already reaching for his service weapon. Mulder leapt towards him, hoping to knock him down and kick his gun away, but as he bounded the fifteen feet towards possible freedom, the bailiff stepped in front of him, and the door was pulled open from the outside, revealing a late arrival to the trial.

Scully.

Mulder stopped mid-run, his knees buckling from under him. She was three feet away; she was sunburned and dehydrated and filthy; she was alive. He fell to his knees, reaching for her, and as she allowed herself to be pulled into his ferocious embrace, Scully dropped to her knees with him. His hands worked their way into her hair, grabbing any part of her that he could, and his mouth tried to form words against her cheek and her shoulder as she gripped the back of his shirt, digging her fingernails into him.

“… So scared… didn’t know where you were…” he rasped against her neck, a lump in his throat so large, he was surprised words were making their way out.

“I’m here, Mulder, I’m here,” she answered, nuzzling his temple.

He pulled back to look at her face. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I’m okay. It’s okay. I’m here now.”

Her story could wait until later: leaving Wallace bleeding to death and his men tied to a pipe in their lab; escaping the cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere, taking Krycek with her at gunpoint; and making her way through the forest, on foot, for three days and nights, until they had been able to climb onto a farmer's truck and get a ride back to D.C. She and Krycek had lived on berries and rainwater and she’d had to keep her gun trained on him at all times, the sneaky rat bastard. Even when he’d slept – or had appeared to sleep – she’d sat awake, watching him. He was the evidence they needed to acquit Mulder, and she would have died of exhaustion or starvation before letting him out of her sight.

The courtroom had become chaotic, with people talking and trying to move from their seats, and the judge was reminding everyone to stay where they were and to quiet down. Maggie was openly crying, reaching for her daughter, and Scully finally left Mulder’s side to slide into a seat next to her, squeezing her mother’s hand.

“Mr. Mulder, please return to your seat,” Judge Holborn was saying for the third time; Mulder finally processed her instructions and did as he was told. “Well,” she began slowly, tapping on a document that had just been placed in her hands, “it seems there has been a change of events. Apparently Alex Krycek walked into the courthouse this morning and confessed to his murder being staged, and you, Mr. Mulder, being framed.”

He turned to look at Scully, needing to know for sure that he wasn’t dreaming; that she was really there, that she had really pulled this off. She gave him a soft smile, nodding her head in confirmation. It was true: she had brought Krycek to them and made him confess his sins. Mulder’s chest surged with pride for his partner.

“In the light of these new circumstances, Mr. Mulder,” the judge continued, “I cannot keep you here or allow you to serve time for a crime which did not actually take place. The police will need to investigate further to assess the possibility of other crimes, but murder cannot be among those charges. You are free to go.”

She banged her gavel, and Mulder bypassed the congratulations of his lawyer to go right back to Scully, who slipped her arms around his neck and held on tight.

“It’s not over, you know,” she whispered against his earlobe, and he pulled her closer. He could feel her ribs, her hipbones; she needed a few good meals and a lot of sleep before he would burden her with anything else.

“I know,” he replied, kissing her forehead, “but at least we’re both going home.”


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder felt a chill run through his body. He stopped on the courthouse steps, looking up at the sky, wondering about vindicating this wife of his. He didn’t deserve her loyalty and care, and yet, here they were; he would do everything in his power to make things right for her.

Your heart is like the ocean, mysterious and dark.

― Bob Dylan

He first heard the term ‘cryopreservation unit’ from Scully’s lips as she gave her story to the police.

At once he leaned in through the door frame, listening more closely; and he heard her explain what she had seen at that cabin, what she had experienced. Rage boiled in his belly like a churning mass of lava; his hand gripped the door frame; his jaw clenched. Scully looked so small in that chair, surrounded by detectives, Skinner at her side. She was a mess, after five days and nights in the wilderness, and he couldn’t imagine how much she just wanted a hot shower, a meal, and a long sleep; but there she was, recounting the events again and again, in agonizing detail. The circle of detectives – two men and a woman – took turns asking questions, taking notes, and looking at her incredulously, until finally Skinner said, “You should have everything you need, detectives. Agent Scully needs to get home now,” and stood, his hands braced protectively on the back of her chair.

Mulder shuffled his feet in the doorway, staring at the floor and listening to the insincere thanks of the team and Scully’s quiet, exhausted voice saying goodnight. As he looked at her then, he could have punched the wall with his unspent fury over what had been done to her; her frail little person heading towards him as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Her blue eyes shining as they met his might have sent him over the edge if it wasn’t for Skinner right behind her, giving him a paternal glare. Scully gave her partner a weak smile, and for a moment he thought she might be reaching for his hand, but instead she tapped the large envelope he held, containing his wallet, keys, and the shirt he’d been wearing when he was arrested. 

“All your earthly possessions?” she asked lightly.

Mulder chuckled. “It’s all yours, now, too.”

Her eyes sparkled at him again. He briefly wondered what she would do if he kissed her.

Skinner cleared his throat, rocking back and forth on his feet. 

“Agent Scully’s apartment is still a crime scene,” he said gruffly. “I can drive you to Mulder’s.”

The night rolled in slowly, with moments of sprinkling rain through the high, moving clouds and murmurs of wind in the green leaves. It was summertime in earnest now, with birds singing loudly and the smell of barbecue on the busy streets of D.C. as the seasonal vendors brought their business out to the masses. A family with four small children ran past the agents as they walked behind Skinner down the courthouse steps, and they smelled of sunscreen and popsicles. Mulder felt another roll of rage deep within over the theft of that life for Scully. Whether she wanted it or not, he had never asked her; but she should have had the choice. Her words to the detectives earlier kept running through his mind; the memory of her face bowed down as she told them of the stolen ova, and of the unit she’d had to leave behind, filled with the potential for so much life. Despite the warm breeze, Mulder felt a chill run through his body. He stopped on the courthouse steps, looking up at the sky, wondering about vindicating this wife of his. He didn’t deserve her loyalty and care, and yet, here they were; he would do everything in his power to make things right for her.

A few yards ahead, Scully stopped as she reached the ground, then turned back to look at him, a smile playing on her lips, her sunburned cheekbones crinkling in the sunlight. The sight of her like that made his knees weak; he took a deep breath and made up his mind.

“You, okay, Mulder?” she called out.

Not yet, Mulder thought, bounding down the steps to catch up with her, but I will be.

______________________

The small shower stall and lack of good-quality soaps didn’t keep the half-hour-long shower at Mulder’s from being the best one Scully thought she’d ever had. She emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, wrapped in a towel that smelled like a freshly-washed Mulder, her hair so clean it squeaked as she squeezed it. 

Mulder had no bed, just a bedroom full of boxes and a dresser, a small closet with a handful of expensive suits and a lot of ties hanging, and a chair in the corner with a pile of files on it. Scully sighed resignedly, wandering around the room. Tentatively, she opened a couple of dresser drawers, finally choosing a pair of bicycle shorts that looked small enough that if she rolled the waistband they might stay up, and an oversized cotton tee shirt. She used Mulder’s toothbrush, relishing the feeling of mint against her grimy teeth, and ran a comb through her damp hair. 

Sleepy and content, she found herself running her hand over the envelope of Mulder’s belongings from the police station, which he had dumped on the dresser when he’d walked her in. He had opened it to pull his wallet out, and now it laid half-scattered across the dresser top, a piece of paper sticking out with his handwriting on it. Scully slid the page out further, seeing her name on the edge.

Dear Scully,

My trial is two days in. I wish you were here. Where are you? I’m losing my mind, Scully, knowing you’re out there somewhere, in danger, and I can’t help you. Skinner says he’s doing everything he can, but he won’t do the things I would do. He doesn’t know what we know. You can take care of yourself, and I have to believe you’re out there kicking some ass. Still, I want to be there to help you. The couple that kicks ass together stays together, or something like that? 

Our marriage is a whole other discussion that we need to have. I don’t know what you expect, or what I should expect. Honestly, Scully, I’m good with whatever you want. We rushed into this marriage, and I’ll understand if you want out, but I don’t think I do. You’re my best friend, and I think we can make something real here. I don’t know how to be married; I told you that before, and it’s true. I’m sure I’ll make mistakes and I’ll need some help along the way. But I do know that you mean the world to me, Scully, and I want to try. If you don’t, we can go back to being partners and that’s okay too. I just know that I need you in my life, always.

Mulder.

Scully rolled the letter over in her hands, considering his words, his offer. She was coming to terms with the idea that she loved Mulder; that it could even be romantic love, and she was surprised to read that he might be feeling the same way. Their partnership had been intense from the moment they met; would that work in a marriage? Or would they crash and burn?

Mulder was a strange creature. They had clung to each other in the courtroom, and held hands taking the elevator down to the police administration office on the second floor, but by the time she was finished being interviewed by detectives, Mulder had seemed angry and closed-off. They had been through a lot, both together and separately, and she couldn’t fault him for needing some time to process everything… but as she escaped the forest she had been desperate to get back to him, and being in the same room but with distance between them wasn’t at all what she had in mind. His actions over the last hour didn’t line up with this letter at all; maybe he had changed his mind since writing it? Or maybe…

No. It couldn’t be. Scully shook her head, trying to brush off the thought.

But maybe it was. Her infertility. He hadn’t known about it until today, and he must have overheard her talking to the detectives about the stolen ova and how she had to leave it behind. Of course, Mulder was young and wanted a family, and this afternoon he had learned that she was not the one to give that to him. Anyway, he hadn’t given her the letter; it might have been written in the heat of emotion and fear, their intense codependent partnership playing tricks on his mind and heart. She tucked the letter back into the envelope, vowing to never let him know she had read it, and let him make the first move if he wanted to.

The living room was dark except for a small kerosene lamp Mulder had lit in the corner. The couch was made up with clean linens and a plump white pillow; there was a pizza box on the coffee table with half of a warm pizza inside, and a glass of water beside it. Scully wandered into the kitchen, but Mulder wasn’t there either – had he gone out, without even talking to her? She flipped on the evening news and settled in to eat, fighting off feelings of rejection that Mulder hadn’t stuck around. He was his own person, after all, and had always been prone to running off into the darkness; and she didn’t want to change him. Maybe it was too much to expect husbandly behaviour from him, she considered, downing the entire glass of water in several long gulps; maybe he was not as ready for marriage as his letter suggested.

Or maybe he had simply changed his mind.

__________________________

The Gunmen were overjoyed – in their own ways – to see Mulder pull up in front of their trailer. Though they still made him call out the secret password and turn around in front of their outdoor cameras before unlocking the door, they did whack him on the back with welcome and congratulations once he stepped in. 

They had been able to locate the cabin where Scully had been taken, although the pictures they had of it were grainy and unclear. Mulder hovered over the photos for nearly an hour, studying every inch of grey, black and white with a magnifying glass, his sharp mind working at putting the pieces together. He could figure out the layout of the cabin from the dozen photos: the long, newer addition at the back, in the midst of trees, would be the lab that Scully had described; the front of the house, and the second floor, looked like nothing more than a cabin in the woods, and anyone that happened upon it wouldn’t have given it a second look.

“Scully must have been here,” he observed, tapping his pen on the window of an upstairs bedroom. “She told me that she went downstairs to her right, through a living room and into this back part of the structure.”

Byers leaned over, studying the photo with his own keen eye. “I wonder how many people were in there,” he said.

“There were three scientists, Krycek, and Scully, that we know of,” Mulder said, then leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Scully didn’t think there was anyone else, but she said if there were other unconscious victims, she wouldn’t have known it. There were rooms with locked doors.”

“Listen, Pal, if you wanna go there, I can’t blame you,” Frohike said nervously, “but are you sure it’s the right time? Scully needs to rest, and you just got out of the slammer – “

“There’s no time like the present,” Mulder told him, tapping on the map. “I want Scully to sleep tonight, but I’ll plan to go first thing in the morning. Are you with me or not?”

“Oh, we’re with you,” Frohike said, and the other guys nodded in agreement. He turned to his comrades, waving his arm in the air as if starting a race. “Come on, fellas, there’s work to be done!”

___________________________

Outside, it felt like noon, though it was only just after nine; the sun was bright and high in the sky, birds were chirping, the air was warm and still. Mulder parked badly in front of his building, taking the stairs up two at a time rather than waiting for the elevator. It seemed anticlimactic, then, to tiptoe into the silent apartment, the hum of their air conditioner the only sound. He peeked into his living room, finding her still asleep on her side, her hand against her face, her eyes wet with tears. He stood and watched her for a moment, wondering if he should put on coffee and make her breakfast before waking her… but then she stirred, her eyelids fluttering, and he shifted forward into the room.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

Scully blinked, adjusting to the morning light, and gave him a weak smile. “You’re back.”

“I ended up sleeping at the Gunmen’s lair.”

“Okay.”

Mulder knelt by her side, running his fingers over the elegant bones of her cheek, her jaw. Up close, he could see tracks of tears that had run down her face during the night. He brushed them away with his thumb. “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

Scully stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression. “It’s okay, Mulder,” she tried to assure him gently, but he wasn’t buying it.

Her lips were dry from dehydration; his thumb bumped over the rough skin as it glided across her mouth. He reached for her glass of water, helping her to sit up and take a long, gulping drink, and then he sat on the edge of the couch as she resettled her back against the pillow. “If something’s wrong, I wish you would tell me,” he offered, trying not to push. 

She shook her head, and he couldn’t help but feel it was a brush-off. “I’m starving,” she finally said, changing the subject.

Mulder rose to his feet, regrettably losing contact with her warm legs. “I’ll make you something.”

“That’s okay, Mulder. You must have a lot to do today. I’ll call my mom and ask her to bring me some groceries. And then I’d like to sleep all afternoon,” she said lightly.

“If that’s what you want, Scully…”

“It is,” she said, watching him closely. “It’s what I want.”

For several long beats they stared at one another. Her face was unreadable, which always made Mulder feel uneasy. She didn’t seem upset with him for being gone overnight… but there was something in her expression that was distant, or perhaps numb. “Scully,” he tried again, “you can talk to me. I’m here now.”

Scully sighed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Mulder whispered, taking her hand. It seemed that there was something about that little gesture that changed the tide; suddenly her ocean-blue eyes welled up again, and long, thick tears began to flow down her cheeks as she told him about all of the regret she’d been holding inside.

“I chose you, and I would do it again, Mulder. I would always choose you,” she whispered, breaking his heart. “But I hate that I had to leave that unit behind, with everything it could have meant to me, in the future… I’m surprised how badly I wanted it.” Her voice broke, and Mulder got to his feet.

“I’m going to take you to your mother’s,” he explained, turning towards her closet. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

Scully stopped crying, her face bewildered. “Mulder, I’m sorry if I’ve overwhelmed you with this… it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

Oh, God, his Scully. Didn’t she know that everything that affected her, affected him now, too? He went to his coat closet, rooting around inside. “I’m glad you told me, Scully.”

“But you’re upset.”

“Not at all, Scully. I just don’t want you to be alone; you need to rest and be fed and watered. I’m going to drop you off at your mom’s and then I’m going on a little trip.”

“A trip? Mulder, you were in prison for five weeks. You’ve barely even been home. We have a lot to discuss. And anyway, if you’re going somewhere, I’m going with you.”

He emerged from the closet with his backpack, tossing it unceremoniously onto the couch near her feet. Seeing the concern etched into her face, the furrow of her brow, he reached out to soothe the creases. His hand seemed to find her hair naturally, twisting it a little around his fingers and then tucking it behind her ear. “You shared something with me that was very personal to you, Scully, and I’m taking it seriously. I’m going to do this, and you don’t have to, but I’d love to have you with me. Are you sure you’re up for the journey?”

“Yes, but Mulder – “

“The Gunmen gave me the coordinates,” he told her. “We can charter a helicopter and be there by noon.”

She shook her head again. “Mulder, we don’t have to do this right now. It’s dangerous, even if we have a helicopter. Those men – and others – could still be there. They may have set up traps or explosives. I don’t want to lose you for this.”

Mulder’s hazel gaze bore into her, making her lungs expand with love and fierce devotion. She leaned into his touch; he burrowed his hands further into her wavy hair; his lips came to rest against her temple. “We’re doing this because it’s important to you, and to me too,” he murmured into her warm skin, and she clutched his shirt at his sides, holding on tight. “We’re going into that forest and getting something back that should never have been taken from you in the first place.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As their pace slowed involuntarily, the world became muffled and fuzzy around her; and then she could no longer see Mulder, or the trees, or even her own hands, but only the grassy, dark ground as it slammed into her face.

And life awaits man as the sea awaits the river. 

\- Simone Schwarz-Bart

 

The helicopter landed in the clearing, and as they descended the small steps to the ground, Scully recognized a creek running north over rocky ground several yards away. 

“Krycek and I stopped there an hour into our trek,” she yelled over the noise of the blades, nudging Mulder with her elbow. He squinted, taking it all in. “We’re not far.”

Mulder gave the pilot the first installment of their payment and clear instructions to stay put, and then opened up his map as he led Scully into the dense brush. It was all eerily familiar to Scully: the sounds of the birds, squirrels and chipmunks skittering up the trees, the patches of sunlight sparkling through the thick masses of leaves overhead. Last time she was here, she’d had Krycek at gunpoint and adrenaline coursing through her system. This time she didn’t feel afraid, and not just because Mulder was with her; this time she believed they were doing the right thing. Despite her inner voice telling her that they were very unlikely to find the cryopreservation unit that contained her stolen ova, she was still allowing a little hope to creep in: just enough hope to give her strength for this leg of the journey.

They walked in silence for a long while, checking the map and the compass, taking frequent sips of their water. “About a quarter mile to go,” she said as they passed over another familiar spot; her skin prickled with goosebumps as she had a visceral memory of the cabin, Krycek’s cryptic words as they walked, her yelling at him to shut up and pushing him forward. A wave of nausea passed over her; she leaned against a tree, taking a deep breath.

Mulder poked her with a granola bar. “Eat this,” he said, and she chuckled. 

“I had a huge breakfast, remember, Mulder? You don’t have to feed me every five minutes. I’m fine,” she assured him, but he stared at her for a moment before conceding, tucking it back into his bag.

There was a large hill before them that appeared to be almost ninety degrees up, looming over them, with trees and bushes sticking out of it at all angles. Scully remembered, with a grimace, sliding down that hill with Krycek in front of her, the two of them bumping down on their bottoms, heels digging into the earth for some semblance of caution. Mulder noticed her expression, and leaned in close, resting his forehead against hers, his hands on her shoulders. “You can do this, Scully,” he whispered, and she nodded against him. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“I’m drawing on your strength, Mulder; the strength of your beliefs,” she replied, nuzzling his temple. She could feel his breath on her cheek; his hands slid down her arms and settled on her waist, pulling her closer. 

His lips found hers gently, searchingly. Warm and soft against her own, his mouth sought out their mutual pleasure, opening just enough that the kiss became humid and sweet. A little moan escaped her throat; Mulder’s hands wandered down to her hips, caressing her curves through her jeans. “Mulder,” she gasped as they broke the kiss, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said into her hairline. 

Scully felt her brows furrow in confusion. “Sorry?” she wondered aloud.

“I – I didn’t mean to do that,” Mulder stammered, looking at his feet.

She cocked her head and opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but over the tall hill an explosion suddenly boomed, rattling the ground and the trees. They dove for cover under a bush as debris fell around them, as if from the sky, and small animals sprang out from their homes and ran for safety. They stayed huddled under the bush until the moment died down, Mulder leaning over Scully like an arch, enfolding her in his torso. 

The hill was shaken, but still sturdy, and they approached it now with trepidation. What was on the other side? Scully knew what had been there before: the lab that was dressed as a cabin, filled with incomprehensible evils. As she stepped over a large plank of wood with nails sticking out of it, she knew that what had been there was likely gone now. And they had just missed it by minutes.

The hike to the top was twenty minutes of agonizing climbing, lunging, and pulling at the earth with bare hands to try to gain traction. There were moments of reprieve on small plateaus, during which they could take a minute to catch their breath and drink some water before starting the climb again. Mulder was in good shape from prison – he had been lifting weights and running on the track hours a day for five weeks – and when Scully felt weak, he would brace her from behind, giving her wordless support. Sweat ran in rivulets down the sides of her face, in between her breasts, on her lower back and behind her knees. When she glanced back at her partner, he took her in with concern, raising his eyebrows at her. 

“Okay?” he mouthed, and she nodded in reply.

The top was in their sights; it was only a few more grappling lunges and Scully was there, pulling her body weight up and over the ledge with a heavy grunt. Mulder was right behind her, groaning in relief, sweeping sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. They stood slowly, looking around as they processed the reality of it all.

The cabin was gone, as they had expected. What had been there had, minutes before, been blasted into charred black ashes. Scully looked away, profoundly disappointed, and Mulder tugged on her sleeve.

“Come on,” he urged, “we didn’t come all this way for nothing. Let’s go check it out.”

She was about to agree, but another, smaller explosion knocked her to the ground; she reached for Mulder, who was also splayed out next to her; her hand found his ankle, wrapped around it. 

“I’m okay,” he huffed out, and turned his face to her. “Scully?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you smell that?”

Scully took a whiff of the air; there was a pungent odor getting stronger, thicker; it smelled like rotten eggs, and as it surrounded them, closing in like a fog, she began to feel faint, and sounds became muffled, her heartbeat getting stronger in her eardrums. “Smells like ether… or chloroform… Mulder…”

“We’ve gotta get out of here…” he panted, and tried to stand up, but his body wasn’t cooperating; he fell to his knees again, still trying to crawl back to the down-slope of the hill.

“Got to… move fast…” Scully agreed, straggling alongside him. 

As their pace slowed involuntarily, the world became muffled and fuzzy around her; and then she could no longer see Mulder, or the trees, or even her own hands, but only the grassy, dark ground as it slammed into her face.

______________________

Mulder had spent his summers on the ocean at Martha’s Vineyard, in either his parents’ small motorboat, kicking around close to shore, or in their large sailboat, with his father at the helm. The sky had seemed endless back then, and the sea full of mystery; he had wanted to discover all the dark places of both he couldn’t see. He and his father didn’t speak much, but on the boat they could sit in the same space companionably, occasionally commenting on the size of the waves or the color of the sunset. In those moments, Mulder’s adolescence hadn’t felt so different from others he knew.

As his eyes slowly opened, he was struck with the familiar sensation of shifting up and down over the waves below, with sporadic bumps when a wave hit the bottom of the boat at a certain angle. The sound of the water and the hum of a strong motor brought him fully into consciousness, his senses and thoughts coming into focus at the same moment as he remembered passing out in the forest. I’m sure as hell not in the forest anymore, he thought wryly, gagging a little on the bitter taste in his throat and mouth. He was lying down, and struck suddenly by a desperate urge to pee; that, along with the extremely dry state of his mouth, and the ache in his legs and back from being on the floor, led him to the realization that he’d probably been out longer than he first thought.

“Scully?” he whispered, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice. Where was she? If she had been taken again, he was going to – 

“I’m here,” she replied, and he felt the wisp of her hand against his back. She sounded as weak as he did; he slowly rolled over to have a good look at her.

Scully took in his appearance with a doctor’s calm, astute gaze; Mulder knew he looked more frantic, his eyes scanning her wherever he could from his position. Both of their hands were bound, but not their feet; the few streams of light coming through the gaps in the door above them were enough to figure that out. She looked weak, her skin a little grey, but he couldn’t see any injuries. He sighed with relief, leaning his chin against her forehead. 

“I think it was chloroform, being sprayed into the air,” Scully said.

Mulder nodded. “They knew we were coming.”

“How, Mulder? The only time we talked about it was…”

“In my apartment.”

“It was bugged.”

“Must have been," he agreed, and they stared at each other, not needing to voice the reality of what that meant. He squirmed on his side. "Hey, help me up, Scully,”

They took turns hoisting each other up into a sitting position, Mulder then crawling to his knees so he could stand. The room spun a little, but he found when he moved slowly, he could gain his balance; he scanned the small, dark area for something to cut the ropes from his wrists. Scully, watching his face, knew what he was thinking; she said “Mulder,” gently, and motioned to a plank of wood in the corner that was broken jaggedly on one side. He grabbed it, making quick work of breaking the ropes that tied Scully’s hands together.

“Thank you,” she breathed, stretching her hands out, and then worked on his.

Free at last, they assessed their situation again. They hadn’t heard footsteps or voices, although the noises of the boat were likely to drown out most other sounds; still, any kind of hint as to what was above them would have been helpful. For all Mulder knew, he could burst through that small door to an empty deck, or to a circle of armed guards staring him down. He gulped, looking back at his partner. She nodded in agreement.

“Here goes nothing,” he said, and moved towards the ladder. 

Mulder went first, each creek of the old metal ladder resonated in his ears, Scully’s small hands on the rails just by his legs, urging him forward silently. At the top, he paused, trying to peer through the tiny opening onto the sunlit deck. From this point, he could see very little, but the area of floor that was visible was plain and vacant, and there was no noise but the splash of the water around the ship.

“I think it’s clear,” he said to Scully, and again, she nodded.

The door was locked from the outside; Mulder pushed on it at every corner before gesturing to the plank of wood they had used for the ropes, still on the floor where they had been curled up. Scully handed it to him, standing back; he pulled his arm back as far as it could go and then slammed the plank into the door, again and again. It seemed so loud, so abrupt, each time he did it; Scully covered her ears. In the second of silence between each blow, they expected the door to burst open from the outside, and to have guns or other weaponry aimed in their direction. “Stand back, Scully,” Mulder advised as he whacked the door again, but she refused. Whatever happened to him would happen to her, too: that much was clear on her face. He reeled his arm back and with one mighty blow, slammed into the metal rectangle and flung it open, the loud clang reverberating in the small space.

They waited a moment to see what would happen, but nothing did; there was an eerie quiet, a lack of reaction that was distressing in its oddity.

“What’s happening, Mulder?” Scully asked, trying to look over his shoulder. 

“Nothing,” he replied. “That’s what worries me.”

He made his way through the opening cautiously, Scully at his back. Each step creaked painfully below their feet; the boat swayed, causing them to pause, to hold on a little tighter. Scully pulled herself through the door just after him, and as he took her hand to help her up, they heard the shuffle of movement behind them.

Mulder jumped in front of his partner as they turned in unison. The sight before them made Scully stand defensively and Mulder grimace; a large wave splashed up over their feet; the boat lurched to the side.

“Agents Mulder and Scully,” the man drawled, a smirk on his thin lips. He took a drag of his cigarette, and then tossed it over the side of the boat, letting it extinguish itself in the ocean tide. “I’m pleasantly surprised that it took you such a short time to escape. I’m learning not to underestimate either of you.”

“What do you want from us?” Mulder snarled, taking one step forward.

“Mulder,” Scully warned, now seeing a man standing in the cabin, watching them as he wielded a cocked gun. Mulder saw him too, and stopped where he was.

The Cigarette-Smoking Man chuckled, a line of smoke oozing out of from between his darkened teeth. He was high on his power, and Mulder derived a small thrill from the idea of beating the old man to dust, showing him who actually the strong one was. He knew it was pointless, though, and it was likely Scully that would pay the price for his bad behavior. Mulder glowered at the man, waiting to hear what he so clearly wanted to tell them, rage boiling in his abdomen.

Bending slightly, the man produced a black bag; he opened it up and pulled out a silver cylinder. As the sunlight reflected from it, bouncing across the rails around them, Scully gasped, moving so close to Mulder that her arm pressed against his. Mulder glanced at her, and then back at the unit balancing on the man’s wrinkled hand.

“Is that it?” Mulder whispered.

“Yes,” Scully answered, and he could hear in her voice how desperately she wanted it.

The Cigarette-Smoking Man pursed his lips, seemingly amused by their interaction. He used his free hand to pull another cigarette from his pocket, and then a lighter, holding it with a shaky hand as he lit the fresh stick.

“See something you like?” he asked Scully facetiously, his watery eyes noting everything about her body language. He did have the power, and he knew it; the thought of it made Mulder’s skin crawl.

“What do you want for it?” Mulder found himself asking, and Scully tensed at his side.

“Mulder, no,” she said quickly. “Don’t deal with him. It’s not worth it.”

“It’s worth it to me, Scully,” he told her, letting her see the truth of that statement in his eyes before looking back at the old man. “What do you want?”

“I think the question, Agent Mulder,” the man intoned slowly, “is how much are you willing to give?”

“Anything,” Mulder responded hastily, and Scully sucked in a frightened breath. “I’ll give you anything.”

The old man chuckled again, his cigarette dangling expertly from his lips. A haze of smoke surrounded his face, clouded his features, and settled into his skin as if it were part of his very being. “All right then, Mr. Mulder. Let’s make a deal.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no warning before the large boat blew up; it was simply there one moment, swaying and creaking in the wind, and the next, it was being smashed apart from within, a million tiny pieces cascading into the sky and landing in the ocean as the main hull burst into flames and lit up the dark surface.

For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one. 

\- Khalil Gibran

 

After a long silence, Scully was the first to speak. “Mulder, it’s not worth it,” she told him.

He turned toward her, looming over her in a way that made their conversation feel secretive, even though the Cigarette-Smoking Man, feet from them, could clearly hear everything being said. “Scully, let me do this for you,” he whispered. “This was stolen from you because of me. I want to get it back for you.”

“Don’t let unnecessary guilt make this decision for you,” she advised, letting her fingers rest on his forearm. Her touch soothed him; he let his eyes wander over her face. “We need to consider all of the possibilities here.”

He saw it in her eyes, then: a flicker of an idea, something brewing in her sharp mind. His gaze bore into hers, trying to figure out what she was telling him wordlessly; finally he nodded, very slightly, in a way that was only perceptible to his partner. They casually moved apart from one another, putting space between their bodies.

Mulder looked back at the old man before him. “What’s the deal?” he asked.

The man looked like the cat that had caught the canary, pleasure etched in every deep groove of his face. He took a long, slow drag of his cigarette. “The tapes and the transcripts, Agent Mulder. You tell me where they are, and I give this to your lovely partner. Or should I say… wife?”

“You can call her Agent Scully,” Mulder snipped, shaking his head. “I don’t have the tapes or transcripts. They were destroyed when I was arrested.”

“Funny,” the old man sneered, “the police records show nothing of them being confiscated.”

“Why would they?” Mulder retorted. “It’s highly classified information. I’m sure someone high up got their hands on it before it ever got as far as the evidence room.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” the man said, and for the first time, Mulder detected annoyance in his tone. 

“Mulder, let’s tell him where they are,” Scully said softly, and Mulder chewed his lip, looking at her sideways. “We can’t do anything with them anyway. No one believes us. We can’t stop the trials.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Mulder said with a begging quality in his deep voice. “You don’t think we can change things at all? Why are we even doing this, Scully? Why did we risk our lives for the truth if we’re not going to do anything about it?”

“We did all we could, Mulder,” she replied, and as she reached for his arm again, he pulled back.

“I don’t understand you,” he seethed. “I thought we were in agreement on this. You saw the things I saw. How can you turn your back on everything we saw, everything we know?”

The Cigarette-Smoking Man laughed, kicking his head back, his glassy eyes rolling about. “Trouble in paradise, Mister and Missus Mulder? History does repeat itself after all.”

“Fuck you,” Mulder said to him, and then turned to Scully. “Please hear me out. I will do anything – almost anything – to get your ova back for you. I know how much it means to you. But we can’t give up the only evidence we have on those human trials. It’s too great of a sacrifice.”

“Who are you to tell me about sacrifice?!” Scully yelled with a small sob. “Do you know what I’ve sacrificed for this cause? We’ve seen things, yes, things I cannot forget. My eyes have been opened to truths about what our government has done to its people – is still doing, in fact – in the name of protection of mankind. You have helped me to see those things, Mulder, to see the truth. But it doesn’t change anything! I can’t have children because of what they did to me. We can’t change what they’re going to keep doing – “

“What in the hell is wrong with you?!” Mulder raged at her, his face red. “We started this with a purpose, to uncover the truth and stop these madmen from continuing their work! How can you back down now? After all you’ve seen? Scully – don’t you know we can make a difference?”

“No,” she said softly; so softly, he almost didn’t hear her over his own heavy breathing. “No, I don’t know that.”

“Scully…” he pleaded, running his hands through his hair.

“I want to be a mother someday, Mulder,” she said, and her ocean-blue eyes filled with tears.

Mulder looked out at the waves for several long moments, considering this, before turning back to the old man, who had put out his cigarette and was lighting another. “Let Scully see the unit,” Mulder demanded, and the man summoned over one of his henchmen, who appeared from behind the cabin and opened the unit for the agents to see. Cautiously, Scully approached, peering in as the younger man opened the sealed top for her. 

She assessed it, and then nodded at Mulder, her eyes sad and tired. 

“Fine,” Mulder relented. “You have a deal.”

“I knew you would come around,” the man sneered, and Scully went to stand at the railing, looking out over the shifting tide as Mulder told their nemesis about the safety deposit box in New Mexico, the stack of papers that was labelled “Renovation Plans” and contained a bunch of house designs with the transcripts mixed inside, and the tape in a small cardboard box marked “Wedding Video”. Mulder fiddled with his keychain, removing a small golden key before stepping towards the man and placing it in his dark, wrinkled hand. 

“Box 2815,” Mulder told him, defeated.

“I’ll have to verify this, of course,” the old man said, flouting the key in front of the agents before tucking it into his pocket. He disappeared into the cabin, leaving his henchman standing between them, the unit still in his hands. 

There were worlds in their silence, mountains and valleys and oceans in the space of all that wasn’t being said. Scully swiped at her cheeks, embarrassed that tears were sliding down her face; Mulder huffed with the exertion of containing his anger and looked anywhere but at his partner.

Eventually the old man returned, sauntering towards them as he sucked on a fresh cigarette. The smell of Morley’s in the air made Scully feel nauseous; she wondered briefly what would happen if she were to shove the old man over the side of the boat. 

“Your story checks out,” the old man scoffed, obviously proud that he had won today’s round. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Mulder.” 

“Go to hell,” Mulder snapped at him.

In the distance, the sound of helicopter blades came closer, and the Cigarette-Smoking Man put out his cigarette, rubbing it into the boat’s deck with the toe of his expensive shoe, and readied himself for his escape. The wind picked up around them as the vehicle came to hover just overhead, and the old man walked through the small group and climbed the ladder leading up to it, his hair and clothing whipping about in the tempest. He motioned to his employee to give them the unit, and the young man plopped it into Scully’s waiting hands, then climbed the ladder after his boss. The captain of the boat ran out on deck, shoving past the agents as he clambered up the rope ladder behind the other men; Mulder came to stand behind his partner, his chest against her back, watching them go.

As the men buckled themselves in, the captain pulled something from his coat pocket, and glared at the agents as he pointed in towards the boat and pressed a button. The Cigarette-Smoking Man lit another one, watching them with disdain as the copter turned and headed west; the realization of what was happening struck Scully like a truck.

“There’s a bomb on board!” she yelled to Mulder over the whoosh of the growing waves. He blinked at her, taking her free hand. The boat swayed frantically; they grappled for balance, holding the railing as they made their way to the side, away from the engine. The helicopter disappeared from view, but the wind hadn’t died down, and the water moved the large boat back and forth with great a sloshing force. They couldn’t see land; they had been unconscious for a time, and weren’t even sure where they were, or which way was home. Fear gripped Scully’s belly even as her arm held tightly to the unit that stored her ova, and she stayed close to Mulder’s side, navigating their way around the side of the ship. 

Mulder stopped suddenly, letting go of his partner, figuring something out. He began kicking at the wall, ignoring Scully’s questions about what he was doing; as the wooden board broke under the strength of his foot, an orange strip of rubber came into view.

“A lifeboat!” Scully exclaimed, and Mulder nodded. 

He pulled it free, and then yanked on the cord that caused it to fill up quickly with air, expanding so forcefully that it knocked Scully into the railing. “You okay?” he asked, grabbing her arm.

“Yes,” she called back, screaming over the constant noise of the mighty wind and the rocking waves. “Let’s go!”

Mulder tossed the small life boat down to the water, and it landed gracefully on top of the churning whitecaps. Scully moved into his arms, and as he lifted her over the railing, he said, “You trust me, Scully?”

“Always,” she said against his cheek, and then let go of his neck as he launched her body over the railing and down towards the dinghy. She landed with a soft thud, and then moved over, waiting for her partner to join her. Mulder jumped down seconds later, creating a greater impact and making the small life boat lurch to the side. Scully moved to the front of it, placing the cryopreservation unit between her legs as she grabbed an oar and rowed frantically; Mulder collected himself, shifted to the back of the boat, and did the same. They rowed in tandem, moving their vehicle of escape away from the larger boat as quickly as possible. Blood pounded in Scully’s ears as she wondered how soon the bomb would go off, how much time they had. Her arms didn’t seem to work fast enough; the waves pushed their little boat back towards the bigger one even as they rowed fiercely.

“We have to move faster,” Mulder told her, speeding up his motions.

“I’m trying,” she assured him.

“Try harder!” he commanded.

Suddenly the wind changed, and the waves moved in the right direction; the dinghy started to glide, of its own accord, away from the large ship. They continued to row, but it was much easier now, with the wind at their backs. “Thank God,” Scully whispered, and even with the roaring water surrounding them, Mulder seemed to hear her; he gave her a weak smile.

There was no warning before the large boat blew up; it was simply there one moment, swaying and creaking in the wind, and the next, it was being smashed apart from within, a million tiny pieces cascading into the sky and landing in the ocean as the main hull burst into flames and lit up the dark surface. The noise was deafening; they automatically tucked themselves down into fetal positions, covering their heads, his foot bumping hers as he tried to maintain contact. Their little boat swayed intensely, almost knocking them out of it, and water splashed in and soaked their knees and elbows and faces. Scully sputtered as the salty liquid invaded her throat and nostrils; she glanced over at Mulder to find him shaking it off, spitting it out. Pieces of debris fell around them, landing in the moving water, small fires being extinguished as the burning objects hit the surface. It was almost beautiful, and it was certainly awe-inspiring; the hull crackled and groaned, burning itself into nothingness, and the little lifeboat swayed further and further away, carried by the waves to an unknown destination.

“I guess we’re lost at sea,” Scully said quietly, tucking the cryopreservation unit under her knees as she found her oar and resumed rowing. The sky was changing, lavender mixing with the blue, signalling the beginning of dusk. Clouds moved above them quickly, propelled by a strong and steady wind; the same wind that was moving their dinghy – where, they couldn’t know just yet, and had very little control over.

“You got that right, Starbuck,” Mulder quipped, taking his own oar. He turned back to row once again, the only sounds the shifting waves, their labored breathing, and the occasional plunk as an oar bumped into a piece of the large boat that had been destroyed. The waves churned; their heartbeats calmed; the lavender sky deepened; and their little orange boat made its way – they hoped, desperately – towards safety.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before dawn, they washed up on land.

Maybe love is like rain. Sometimes gentle, sometimes torrential, flooding, eroding, joyful, steady, filling the earth, collecting in underground springs. When it rains, when we love, life grows.

\-- Carol Gilligan

 

Scully was cute when she was angry, Mulder had thought at the beginning of their argument. An hour later, he wanted to throttle something, and she wasn’t so cute anymore.

“And furthermore, Mulder,” she hollered, salty water spraying her as they went over a high bump, “As a scientist, I can’t pretend something exists when it doesn’t! I have seen no proof – “

“NO PROOF?!” he raged, and slapped his hands to the rubber boat so hard, she startled a little. “How can you say that, Scully? You were in a goddamn lab full of alien-human hybrid foetuses!”

“I don’t know that! I don’t know what they were! I didn’t have the chance to test them – “

“But they weren’t human – you said that yourself! And what about the boxcar full of skeletal remains, Scully? What were those?”

“Any number of things! They could have been fakes; they could have been deformed human remains, changed as a result of the government testing! There are many things that can cause that type of skeleton, Mulder – a genetic abnormality, or surgical changes, or – or they could have been thousands of years old, and we know that evolution has caused skeletal changes over time!”

“Thousands of years old? Scully, they had smallpox vaccination scars!”

“Mulder, we can’t just jump to conclusions without real facts and science! If we had been able to take a body, to test it, then we might have some real answers. We can’t just go on your hunches – “

“Scully, damn it, is that what you think we’re doing? We’ve seen so much – YOU have seen so much! At some point, you have to admit to what you’ve seen!”

“I know what I’ve seen, Mulder, and it’s not enough for me to know with certainty that a government sub-organization is preparing for alien colonization. I still don’t know that aliens exist! And where would they have gotten this information, this connection with alien life? Where did they obtain alien DNA, as you say? What if the DNA they have is nothing more than – than – plant or animal DNA? What if their attempts at hybridization are nothing more than the same type of cloning and human experimentation that’s being done in private labs, very controversially, around the world?”

He shook his head in his hands, rubbing his fingertips against his hairline. “I can’t believe how goddamn blind and hard-headed you can be,” he groaned, and the words settled between them like silt. Scully’s fiery expression turned hard, and she looked out at the water.

“Yeah, well, when we get home you can divorce me,” she muttered.

Mulder glanced up at her in surprise, his hazel eyes sharp. He knew at some point, they would have to make decisions about what would happen next with their marriage, but he hadn’t imagined it would go exactly like this. He had hoped to get her back to land and let her know how he felt. He had hoped that she would – maybe, just maybe – return his feelings. When he spoke, his voice sounded like he’d been struck in the gut. “Is that what you want, Scully?”

She suddenly seemed deflated, her fire from just a moment before quickly put out. She couldn’t – or wouldn’t – look at him; she leaned on the side of the small boat, dipping her fingers into the cold water below. The waves were dying down, and the water rippled under her touch. “It’s probably for the best.”

Mulder’s heart was in his throat; he couldn’t believe this was happening. She was being unreasonable – wasn’t she? He opened his mouth to tell her so, but then slammed it shut again. She didn’t love him, that was becoming clear, and she was only being fair in letting him know that now. Anger mixed with the hurt bubbling in his belly as he watched her, her small body curled into the corner of the dinghy, her face sullen. “Consider it done,” he said.

“Fine,” she replied, closing her eyes.

The boat moved over the water, the gentle swish the only sound as they sat in silence. The sun had set, and the stars were bright overhead, but all around them was nothing but darkness; Mulder could hear Scully’s breathing, see the soft outlines of her face and shoulders, but he couldn’t read her expression. “You must be hungry,” he said.

“I’ll survive,” she said, and then a quieter, “I hope.”

“Yeah,” he replied. He looked up at the stars, thinking that a private starlight cruise could be part of a very romantic honeymoon if his bride hadn’t just asked for a divorce. Across the boat, Scully shivered. Mulder took off his sweater and shuffled on his knees over to her, draping it over her shoulders as a peace offering. 

Scully hummed gratefully. “Aren’t you going to be cold?” she asked.

“I’ll be okay,” he assured her; and then figuring that this might be the last time she’d let him do this, he took his chances: “Want to cuddle up for warmth?” he asked. 

She pulled on the sweater silently, and then nodded at him in agreement, shifting onto her side so he could spoon her from behind on the floor of the lifeboat. Her head rested on his bicep; her hair smelled like seawater and vanilla. 

Several long minutes went by before Scully’s breathing changed and he knew she had fallen to sleep in his arms; Mulder held her tighter and kissed her temple. He wondered if he should have told her that he loved her, but shook his head at himself. The priority was keeping their partnership intact, and he had said too much already. He’d get through this: he would divorce her amicably, act as if the whole thing had been case-related, and throw himself one hundred percent into his work from now on. Truthfully, his life didn’t have to change much at all. He had been lonely for years, and he could do it again.

Scully was relaxed and pliable against him, and he held her all night, allowing himself to drift in and out of sleep; watching for help, keeping her safe, hoping against hope that she would change her mind.

Just before dawn, they washed up on land.

_______________________

They were miles from anywhere, and unsure of what State they might be in. Scully went to pee in the bushes while Mulder walked up and down the shoreline, looking for a sign of anything familiar. With that ruled out, he grabbed a handful of leaves still damp with dew and chewed them happily.

“You shouldn’t eat those, Mulder,” Scully warned, emerging from the foliage. “Do you even know what they are?”

“They’re not poison ivy,” he retorted, stuffing another handful into his mouth.

Scully rolled her eyes, walking in step beside him.

The shoreline stretched on for eternity, the blue sky proud all around them. An occasional bird flew overhead, and the waves lapped at the sand. Scully thought about the sand in the desert, almost six weeks before, and how different it had felt under her feet. She paused to pull her shoes off, letting them dangle from one hand, the cryopreservation unit dangling from the other.

“What is it?” Mulder asked, waiting for her to catch up.

“I was just thinking about the difference that a little water makes,” she said, letting her toes dig into the damp surface. “Remember the red sand in New Mexico? It had such a dry feel to it… as if it had given all it could to be on this planet. It was hard and unforgiving.”

Mulder nodded, watching the ground before him as they continued their stroll.

“The sand here is nourished by the water. It’s like it’s part of something greater. It feels like it’s full of life. That other sand was…”

“Barren,” Mulder said, without thinking.

Scully’s face changed; she bit her lip and glanced at him before looking down again. “Yes,” she said.

The horror of what he had said struck Mulder like a punch in the gut; he stopped in his tracks. “I – I didn’t mean it like that,” he stuttered.

“It’s fine, Mulder,” she said, not making eye contact with him. Her strides had become longer, and she walked a few feet ahead of him, her bare feet leaving footprints that were almost immediately washed away by the tide.

“It’s not fine,” he argued, meeting her pace. “I’m an idiot, Scully. I didn’t think before I spoke. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with… you know…”

“Being barren?” she supplied, still a foot ahead of him.

“Yeah, or you know, not having children, or adopting, or whatever.”

“I’m glad you think it’s ‘whatever’, Mulder,” she huffed. “I hope you and your future wife or girlfriend never have to deal with this.”

Again, he was stopped in his tracks by her mindset. Didn’t she know? Didn’t she understand?

“Sc – Scully,” he stammered, his gaze fixed on her small form as she trudged away from him.

“What?” she snapped.

The tide came in and out; the rush of the water sounded almost musical. Mulder exhaled in rhythm with it. I can’t believe I’m going to do this, he thought, watching her blue eyes spark at him. “You’re my wife,” he said on a puff of breath.

She stopped, finally, staring at him. “I know that, Mulder. But you don’t have to worry. We can end this arrangement soon and you can go on with your life as planned. I wouldn’t want to keep you from the family you want to have someday.”

His stomach churned. “I shouldn’t have eaten those leaves,” he mumbled, rubbing his face; she only stared at him pointedly. “Scully, please hear me out. I don’t care about having children someday, or not. I’ve never given it much thought. I care about our work, and exposing the truth, and you. Everything else, we can figure out later. Don’t you see that?”

“Of course I see that,” she told him briskly, agitation rolling off of her like thunder. “I know you better than you think I do, Mulder. I know there are things about your life that you want to figure out later, as you say. And you don’t want any of those doors to be closed for you when that time comes. And I also know that you care for me, as I care for you.”

“Scully – “ he tried again.

“Do you know what’s funny? For a little while I thought we might actually be, you know…” she chuckled wryly.

“What?” he asked pleadingly; silently he begged her to just say the words.

“Falling in love,” she chuffed, and a pain emanated from his chest outwards. “Or something like that. But it’s for the best that we didn’t let things get that far. The work is too important to both of us. Someday, Mulder, you and your wife may decide to start a family, and then you’ll be glad that we ended this now.”

Profound frustration roiled in his belly; he wished he still had that rubber dinghy to slam his fists into. “Scully!” he yelled, “Can’t you see what I’m trying to say? You’re my wife, Scully, and I meant what I said in my vows!”

She turned beet red, her mouth open in disbelief. “The vows we agreed to in your car in a drive-through chapel? You know what, Mulder? I meant them too. I will always be by your side, and I will always be your friend and your partner, no matter what. But you deserve to be in love, and to have a real marriage someday. And so do I.”

“Scully,” he nearly growled, and her eyebrow quirked in surprise, “I have that now.”

The tide came in further, washing them up to their calves, soaking their pant legs. Scully glanced down at her wet limbs and moved further up the shoreline, bringing herself to drier land. She crossed her arms over her chest, her face confused.

“Mulder, are you dehydrated? Maybe you’re in shock. You’re not making any sense.”

He crossed the sand to her in three long strides, grabbing her at the waist. “I’m making perfect sense,” he said, inches from her mouth, and then leaned in to merge his lips with hers. The kiss was long and deep, flowing with all of the words that had been said and unsaid between them; it took her a moment to relax into it, her back bending slightly to conform to the way he held her. When they pulled apart slowly, his mouth lingering on hers even after the kiss was over, she sighed.

“This is the most sensible I’ve ever been in my life,” he whispered against her cheek, and she smiled.

“I can’t argue with that,” she replied.

“I love you,” he told her, and the weight of the world lifted from his chest. “Even though you’re blind.”

She looked at him with mock horror, but the corners of her mouth quickly lifted. “I love you, too, even though you’re deaf,” she retorted.

“Let’s not get divorced,” he suggested, holding her close. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wanna be married to you.”

“It’s a big step,” she said cautiously.

“I know,” he muttered against the top of her head. “I think I’m ready. I don’t know how to be married, Scully, I’ve told you that before. I don’t really know how to be in a healthy relationship, truthfully. But I know I want to be with you. When I think of my future, you’re in it.”

“We may never be able to have children,” she reminded him, “and it may complicate our work. Are you prepared for the reality of living and working together? Being together all the time?”

“Oh, Scully,” he said, chuckling as he planted a kiss on her forehead, “I think it’s you who needs to worry about that one.”

She laughed, and as he cupped her cheeks in his hands, he was relieved to see all former traces of fear and anger gone from her expression. Her eyes twinkled at him, as deep and amazing and brimming with life as the ocean beside them. “Are you sure?” she asked, and he nodded.

“I’m sure,” he told her, running his hand over her cheek. “Are you?”

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “But this feels right.”

And he kissed her again.

_______________________

It was late in the afternoon when they found an ocean-side shack that must have been a beach home to someone, at some point, though it hadn’t been used in a long time. It was dusty and barely furnished, with only an old mattress on the floor and a small cupboard that held a couple of stainless steel pots. They worked together to air out the mattress, whacking it hard outside as dust billowed from it, and then soaked Mulder’s sweater in seawater before wiping it down, along with the rest of the small room. While Scully washed the floor as best as she could, Mulder wandered into the edge of the woods, finding berries and edible grasses; they ate in the shade of the cabin, watching the sky darken with rain clouds. 

“We found this place just in time, didn’t we?” Scully said, popping one last berry into her mouth. Her lips were red from the sweet fruit and he had to keep himself from hurling his body at hers to taste them. They had spent the day walking the beach, looking for signs of human life (and finding none), talking about the quickly-changing future and all it might hold. At times they held hands, or stopped to kiss, their skin salty from the ocean spray. Mulder couldn’t wait to make love to her, but he didn’t want to move too quickly. If she didn’t want to, on this first night that their marriage was real, it was completely understandable, and he wouldn’t be the one to bring it up first.

“Looks like a big storm coming,” he agreed, standing and stretching.

She ducked inside, returning a moment later with the pots she had cleaned out earlier. “Rainwater,” she said with a pleased smile, laying the pots on the beach near their temporary shelter. 

“Smarty-pants,” he smirked, letting his arms rest on her shoulders.

“That’s why you married me,” she joked, pulling at his tee shirt teasingly. 

“That, and many other things,” he replied, nuzzling her temple.

“Mulder?” she whispered; her mouth was against his jaw and her voice sent goosebumps across his skin. The sky darkened; the first rain drops began to fall. 

“Yes, Scully?”

“Take me to bed,” she ordered, and his body responded immediately.

“Yes, dear,” he said, scooping her up and running her through the thickening rain and into their simple shelter.

The roof leaked, which wasn’t a surprise; Scully grabbed the one remaining pot and laid it under the leak. Outside, the sky had grown so dark that even with the small window open, it felt like nighttime. Thunder boomed and a flash of lightening revealed his partner – his wife – standing a few feet from him, pulling off her shirt. In the next flash, she had moved a little closer, and was reaching for him; by the third, they had their arms around each other, and her lips had found his neck, kissing and sucking on the stubbly skin there. He let his hands wander up and down her back, caressing her warm, taut skin and feeling her muscles shift with longing under his touch. 

Their first time would be remembered, by Mulder, as moments that were as intense and illuminating as the bursts of lightning that gave him glimpses of his bride. His hands on her breasts, thumbs running over her hard nipples as she whimpered his name; the taste of her sweet, warm nipples in his mouth; her moans of want as he sucked her breasts ravenously and slipped his hand between her legs. He would remember kissing until they had to break for air, his tongue pulling against the backs of her teeth while she made quick work of his fly with her nimble fingers; Scully taking his throbbing cock into her hands, and later, into her mouth, bringing him to the brink of climax before easing off. He would recall the sensation of sliding the jeans from her legs and licking the delicate, salty skin of her thighs until finally reaching her center, and then seeking out the perfect spot with his tongue as she begged him not to stop, her fingers tangled in his hair. He would remember, with perfect clarity, how she eventually rolled him onto his back and climbed on top of him, open and vulnerable and ready for him to fill her, muttering words of desire and pleasure against his ear as she moved lithely up and down on his pulsing shaft.

He had never been so aroused in his life, he realized as she picked up the pace, her wetness like velvet around him. He was so, so close – dangerously close, in fact – to coming that it was almost a relief when a great crash of thunder shook their little cabin, causing them to stop for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes, panting heavily.

“Scully,” he whispered, squeezing her damp, naked hips, “the earth shook for us.”

“I always knew it would, Mulder,” she said cheekily, and then nipped at his lips, short on breath, as she began moving with him again.

Her climax was like the tide coming in: she pumped steadily and rhythmically as it swept over her, until her muscles clamped around him and her body trembled. A flash of lightning revealed her above him, her face tense with ecstasy, pale skin glowing against the dark evening. She gasped with a noise that might have been his name, and he held her firmly and waited for the tide to move out. When it did, she rested her mouth against his shoulder, humming into his skin.

He picked up his pace again, thrusting into her raggedly, their damp bodies sliding against one another. His grip on her hips tightened; she clutched his hair and tried to tell him she was coming again; and then he burst into her, endlessly, it seemed, as she shuddered and let out a long, releasing moan. Her lips slowly made their way to his, giving him a lazy, sloppy kiss as they caught their breath. He ran his fingers up and down her spine leisurely, and her body softened in his arms.

Mulder didn’t know how long they had made love, but the storm had mostly passed over by the time their breathing returned to normal and Scully rested, spent, against his chest. He reached around the floor for their clothing, pulling it over her as the sweat on their skin cooled. The last rumbles of thunder could be heard, now far off in the distance, and the last small flicker of lightning gave him the image of his wife, his Scully, pulling a tee shirt over her bare shoulder with a sleepy grin. 

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she whispered, but he was too exhausted to answer her; he drifted off with his arm flung over her bare waist and his legs entwined with hers, the gentle waves of the ocean outside, and the rain tapping on the roof and spilling out of the pot onto their wood floor. He didn’t know where they were or how they were going to get home, but they were safe for tonight, and Scully loved him; for the first time in a long, long while, Mulder was content.


	14. Chapter Fourteen and Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They watched at the edge of the window as three copters swarmed towards them, closer and closer, and he nudged her as they descended upon the shelter. She knew what he meant: they had to get out of there, and there was no time to waste.

Be surprised by joy, be surprised by the little flower that shows its beauty in the midst of a barren desert, and be surprised by the immense healing power that keeps bursting forth like springs of fresh water from the depth of our pain.

― Henri J.M. Nouwen

 

A swirl of smoke, cloaking them in secrecy. A group of old, white men sitting in a circle in plush, wine-colored armchairs; a table in the midst of them, a locked box upon it. 

“Open it,” ordered one of the men, and the minion produced a key immediately and fiddled with the lock. The box popped open; inside was a thick stack of papers, folded in half, just as he had been told. The man on the phone had told him everything was there, as Mulder had promised; now, he reached for it with one wrinkled hand, dragging on his cigarette with the other, a pleased smirk on his thin lips.

“Ah, here we are,” he drawled, pressing the cigarette into an ashtray so he could open the papers. “Agent Mulder thinks he’s sold out for his cause, but as soon as his precious Scully is involved…”

The papers turned in his hands; a look of confusion settled on his face.

“Is there a problem?” asked an older man from his chair, watching the scene unfold with a wary expression.

“This can’t be,” the smoky man said, flipping the pages faster and faster. “No, it can’t be. My assistant told me it was all here, he looked through this himself.”

“What in tarnation is the issue?” the older man snapped, sitting higher in his chair.

The Cigarette-Smoking Man looked sheepish, which wasn’t something that occurred often. He turned to his boss, holding the papers out in remorse. “They’re fakes,” he announced. His eyes hardened, turning charcoal grey; smoke slid from his between his teeth. “They will pay for this. Mark my words, I will get the tapes, and Mulder and Scully will pay for this deception.”

He tossed the papers to the floor and strolled out of the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving the other men to murmur amongst themselves.

__________________________

Scully woke with Mulder’s hand on her breast, the sound of the ocean outside their door, and a sweet, earthy aroma filling the air. Despite having slept on an old, lumpy mattress, it was quickly becoming one of the better mornings she’d experienced.

She rolled over to face him, smiling shyly. Already awake, Mulder grinned back, cuddling up closer. His thumb moved gracefully back and forth over her nipple.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, and his lips found hers, warm and moist and morning-soft. 

His hands roamed her body; her leg made its way between his, her thigh rubbing him into full wakefulness. He groaned, rolling them so he was above her, and then took his time kissing her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her belly. By the time he reached her center, she was writhing beneath him with desire, murmuring nonsense and touching him wherever she could reach; his eyes locked with hers as he teased her opening with his fingers before bringing his mouth to it. 

It was a different experience from the night before, now making love in the daylight. Scully had been with other men before, and was comfortable with her body and letting her needs be seen and heard in the bedroom; but she had never been as adored as she was under Mulder’s gaze and caress. His eyes, darkened with lust, examined her body as if she was the most brilliant thing he had ever seen, and his hands discovered every spot that felt good to her, that made her whimper or moan. He took delight in her noises, and in her need for him; he wanted to have more of it, and told her so. He called her beautiful and sexy and amazing, and noticed each reaction his touch and his voice garnered from her. It was a little unnerving, at first; but as he sucked on her swollen clit, his hands sliding under her hips to gain more traction and pull her closer, she heard him mutter, “So good, Scully, god you’re so good,” around her hot flesh, and she decided to let go of her inhibitions. This man was in love with her, really and truly, and she would be a fool to feel embarrassed about enjoying what they shared.

She came apart in his arms, pleasure coiling in her center and then bursting outwards, reaching the ends of all her limbs, her neck, her mouth, her mind. Every nerve ending sparked and tingled with delight; her heart beat faster; every part of her body gripped his tightly, trembling, and then relaxed.

He followed her over the mountain, pumping into her with movements that were first erratic and then slowing; he pushed into her slick core as far as he could, pouring into her with a loud grunt against her shoulder, one hand still in her hair. He twisted the copper strands around his fingers as she kissed his forehead; she hummed her pleasure on his skin as he caught his breath.

“Scully,” he whispered, nestling himself between her breasts, “Can we wake up like this every morning?”

She chuckled, tousling his hair. “I can’t promise you that, Mulder.”

Her stomach growled; he arched his neck to look up at her. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Yeah, but can we rinse off in the water first? I’m sweaty… Mulder, what’s that noise?”

He sat up, listening intently. “It’s a helicopter,” he told her at the moment she realized it for herself. “Get dressed,” he said, tossing clothes her way. He was quick to pull on his own jeans and tee shirt, fumbling into shoes as he dared to peek out of the small window.

“Who is it?” she asked, tying up her sneakers as fast as she could. Her heart was beating rapidly again, but this time not for pleasure; bile rose in her throat, her stomach empty and upset. 

“It’s them,” was all he needed to say.

They watched at the edge of the window as three copters swarmed towards them, closer and closer, and he nudged her as they descended upon the shelter. She knew what he meant: they had to get out of there, and there was no time to waste. Scully grabbed the cryopreservation unit from the cabinet and stayed on Mulder’s heels as they burst out of the door, knowing there would be mere seconds to get from the cabin into the dense woods. They were weak from dehydration, but adrenaline surges kicked in, propelling them like racehorses across the sandy beach and into the brush, their strides long and powerful. 

Reaching the covering of the forest, they slowed down but kept running, Scully a pace behind her partner. “Come on, come on,” he encouraged her as he ran. 

They jogged a mile in, hearing the vehicles above the trees, and the sound of men yelling. Scully spotted a cave opening at the bottom of a large rock, and she nudged Mulder; he shifted his body into it first, reaching for her. It was small, dark, and smelly, but likely the safest place for the time being; they slid down to the ground, quieting their breathing and listening for activity outside of the cave door. They would very likely be found, Scully knew; she glanced at Mulder, who nodded in agreement. All they could do now was wait this out; but these men were relentless, and they wanted something that only Mulder and Scully could provide.

Truthfully, it was only a matter of time.

____________________________

Albert Hosteen had a vivid dream that an eagle and a lioness were trapped inside of a great mountain. Vultures swirled around them, calling out to them with mocking voices, demanding something that wasn’t theirs to own. One of the vultures looked strange, and Albert quickly realized that it was a parrot disguised as a vulture. There was something familiar about him; he was bringing scraps to the other predators, and they were fueled by what he gave them. In his dream, Albert emerged from the mountaintop and struck that parrot-vulture down, leaving it licking its wounds, and sent the others scattering. The parrot-vulture turned back into a parrot, healthy and free, and the lioness and eagle were able to escape over the mountain.

Albert awoke at dawn, damp with sweat but filled with calm. Opening his bedroom door, he yelled to his family to get ready for a prayer circle. Downstairs, the sounds of breakfast being prepared mixed with the radio and quiet conversations; the odor of strong coffee brewing permeated the large house. Everything quieted as the radio was turned off and the Hosteen family moved somberly into the living room. Albert met them there, observing for a moment before he spoke. 

“There is trouble in our midst,” he said plainly, and those in the room looked at him, waiting for more. “This person betrayed the FBI man and the FBI woman and led them into danger. I have seen it, in a dream.”

“Who is it, Anali?” Eric asked softly.

“I have seen his face in my dream, and I know who it is,” Albert told his grandson. “As we talk to the Creator, I hope that this person chooses to make things right. We live in harmony with all living things in this land. The acts of this person have endangered human life, and there will be more lives lost if we don’t fix it now.”

The room nodded, agreeing; Albert took his seat on a cushion on the floor, in a semi-circle with his family, beginning his prayers. As he chanted softly to himself, his eyes moved up and caught sight of his son-in-law, Daniel, mouthing the right words but not meaning them. He sighed, his heart heavy. Daniel met his gaze, paled, and looked down at his hands. His mouth kept moving but no sound came out. Albert knew the confession would come soon; he closed his eyes and focused on the connection he had with the earth, and with all living creatures. The FBI agents were in trouble again, and he had a strong feeling that Daniel could end this war. He would just have to choose life, and Albert believed that he would.  
___________________________

Skinner leaned forward at his desk, eyeing them with a disgruntled fondness; he was repeating, for the third time, that he was both grateful they were alive, and furious that they had put themselves into yet another dangerous situation. He had already reamed Mulder out for having dragged Scully into the woods when she was supposed to be recovering from her previous ordeal, and then he started in on warning Scully that she had better follow the rules from here on out, because she wouldn’t have his ongoing support if she continued to make bad decisions. 

“Am I making myself clear?” he barked, and Scully nodded as Mulder sat brooding.

“Yes, Sir, very clear,” Scully said firmly, making good use of her years as a Captain’s daughter.

He dismissed the agents with a wave of his hand, and they stood, Mulder’s hand sliding into place on the small of Scully's back.

“Oh, Sir?” Scully said at the door, turning back. 

“Yes, Agent Scully?”

“We never did find out why the Smoking Man and his team ended up leaving us alone in the forest. Surely they could have found us if they wanted to.”

“I don’t know,” Skinner said, perplexed. “Maybe they realized you didn’t have what they wanted after all.”

Mulder nodded morosely, thinking about that while following Scully out of the door. They had lain in wait in the woods for more than an hour once the sound of the copters had disappeared into the distance, and then made a slow and steady track back to civilization, finally coming upon a small town gas station as dusk had begun to cloak the horizon. From there they had been lucky to reach a police officer who was confident enough in their bizarre story to call the closest FBI satellite office and begin to get them safely home. Mulder hoped to uncover, at some point, what had changed, and to find out if the Consortium was still going to come after the tapes and transcripts, but it would have to wait for another day; he was going to take a lesson from his new wife and learn to rest. Occasionally. The hallway was empty, the offices locked up for the weekend, theirs included. He wrapped his arm fully around Scully’s waist, hoping he could get away with such a brazen move when no one was around. He could; she leaned into his touch, wrapping her arm around him too.

Something they hadn’t mentioned in their report, or in their meeting with Skinner, was that they knew where the original tapes and transcripts were hidden. Having that information could endanger Skinner’s safety; the fewer people who knew, the better.

Even Maggie Scully, who had watched the construction crew put up walls in her basement, wasn’t aware of a solid wood box that her daughter had tucked into one wall which contained a series of secrets that could, if discovered by the right people, take down whole branches of the government, as well as the powerful men who worked secretly within it. Maggie had been pleased with her finished basement, and had proudly hung a picture of Saint Brendan, the Patron Saint of sea travel, in that space, completely unaware that there was evidence of a potentially world-changing conspiracy hidden behind layers of insulation and drywall and paint. 

It was simply better that way.

________________________

By Sunday evening, the move was complete. Mulder’s couch and desk were in the second bedroom, which was now an office; his bookshelf had taken the place of Scully’s large armoire, complete with his bubbling aquarium. They had donated most of his kitchenware, and some of his clothes, and many of her books, and managed to fit his dresser into the larger bedroom beside her bookshelf. As they lay cuddled on the couch watching an old movie, their bellies full of pasta and red wine, Scully appraised the new living arrangements with a critical eye.

“Something wrong?” Mulder asked, seeing her lips purse.

She shook her head. “No, I think we did the best we could. The apartment isn’t very big, that’s all.”

“It’s big enough for the two of us,” he said, not wanting to even think about another move; she gave him a knowing smile and leaned back against his chest, humming happily.

“You’re right, Mulder,” she said.

“Can I get that on tape?” he joked. “I may want to play it back for myself, from time to time.”

“Never,” she laughed, turning around to straddle his lap. He got rid of his wine glass so he could embrace her with both arms, running his hands up and down her back, her hips. She leaned in to kiss him, slow and sweet, a content little moan escaping her throat. Pulling apart, Scully rested her head on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck with damp lips. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” she muttered, “but I’m looking forward to getting back to work tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Mulder admitted, squeezing her thighs through her pajama bottoms. She rubbed his nose with her own, waiting for him to say more. “There’s a lot more to be done,” he said finally.

She looked at him somberly, nodding her head. It was true: there were many monsters hiding in dark places, and some hiding in plain sight; and they would do their best to take down as many as they could. How lucky she was, she thought, watching his hazel eyes deepen to mossy green as he stroked her hair, to have found her perfect opposite, to have found love with him, and to be able to merge all of the passions of her heart into her life with this man. How lucky that the ova they retrieved were being tested by the top fertility specialist in the State, and might still be viable, even after everything they had gone through. How lucky to be getting closer and closer to the truth, and to be able to sojourn together, even though the days could be long and the nights could be terrifying; how amazingly fortunate to be making a difference in the world, small and inconsequential as it often seemed.

“Tell me again how I’m right,” Mulder grumbled into her neck, and then peppered kisses along the goose-bumping skin there.

“It’s not gonna happen, Mulder,” she said with a giggle, and he grabbed her hips and rolled her over onto the couch as she yelped in surprise. As he kissed her again, she thought she could still taste a hint of salty ocean mist in his warm mouth. 

And she wanted more. She wanted as much of this man, and their work, and the truth, as she could get. She wanted to wake up with him every morning and try to disprove his theories and argue with him and come to conclusions together. She wanted to be his hero, and let him be hers; she wanted to have a life full of wonder, and seeking great truths; and she wanted to always remember that the questions were often more important than the answers. 

She exhaled deeply as Mulder held her in his arms after making love, the light of the TV still flickering, their food now cool on the table. She laid a blanket over the two of them, and he kissed her forehead gently, running his hands in figure eights over her back. “We are so, so lucky, Mulder," she whispered. Without seeing his face, she could feel his surprise, his processing of her statement. His hands stilled on her back. 

“Yeah, Scully, we sure are,” he agreed finally, and pulled her closer still.

__________________________________

EPILOGUE

The desert and the ocean are… seething with hidden life. The only veil that stands between perception of what is underneath the desolate surface is your courage. Dare to breach the surface and sink.

― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

 

The rain pounded on the windshield; the thunder rumbled, quaking Mulder’s small car and making the leaves and the grass and the windows tremble. It was certainly not the worst storm Mulder had ever seen, but it was bad enough that he wouldn’t have chosen to drive right now, and wouldn’t have even left the office under normal circumstances.

Then again, when had his life ever been normal? In the four years he and Scully had been married, they had probably enjoyed more normalcy than he had in the years before, but there had still been some very bizarre cases, cryptic messages in dark alleyways, Krycek’s escape from prison and subsequent disappearance, and many other things that kept Mulder up at night. Still, more than ever before in his life – since his early childhood, anyway – he slept in a bed at night, feeling safe and loved and happy. Scully had made his life better in unmeasurable ways, but this week she had been under the weather and working from home, which had put him a little on edge. He preferred to have her by his side, always.

The rain grew thicker and the sky darkened as Mulder navigated the narrow city streets and headed for the highway. The deepening puddles gripped his tires, spinning them fruitlessly and spraying water up against his window.

Scully, was the only thought he could process as he merged onto the highway; Scully needs me.

Something is wrong.

She could be badly hurt.

Someone else could be hurting her. 

Scully needs my help.

Her voice message had been urgent – “Come home right away,” she had said, so unlike her – and there had been a touch of panic in her voice. When he tried to call her back, he found that the phone lines were out, likely from the storm, and his brilliant mind went into overdrive, rapidly figuring out every possible outcome, and then narrowing it down to those that were more likely. He missed his budget meeting to leave right away, taking the stairs two at a time rather than waiting for the elevator, tearing out of the parking garage with a violent squeal of rubber against cement.

Scully.

Scully needs my help.

She’s in danger, or – oh, God – worse.

Traffic was bad; Mulder weaved in and out between other cars, his safety be damned. He had to get home to Scully.

Scully needs me. I won’t let her down.

He finally got off the highway near their new neighbourhood, and sped through the residential streets until he saw, through the pounding rain, their cozy three-bedroom townhome, a small light flickering in the front window. Power was out, and Scully had lit a candle. 

Scully, Scully, Scully, beat his heart as he forced the car door open against the now-torrential downpour and the fierce gusts of wind. The wind pulled the door from his grip, slamming it shut; he splashed through the fresh puddles marring his driveway and flung himself against the front door, twisting the knob angrily with one hand as his other searched for the right key. The key was sticking; he swore at it, trying the knob again.

“SCULLY!” he yelled, ramming his shoulder repeatedly into the door. “SCULLLAAAAYYYY!”

And then the door burst open, and he called her name again, searching the small main floor with hawk eyes. Nothing seemed out of place; there were candles lit in the living room and the kitchen, a glass of milk in the sink, and the kind of silence only to be found when the power is out. 

He ran upstairs, his sopping wet shoes leaving puddles on the hardwood, and slammed into their bedroom; and there she was, his Scully, pink-cheeked and freshly showered, a smattering of freckles across her perfect nose. She was propped up in their bed, a book on her lap, looking at him with bewilderment; he toed off his wet shoes and adjusted his tone, his movements, to the calmness of the space. He moved to her side and sat next to her, stroking her lovely face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she took his wet hand, kissing it softly. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt,” she replied, sitting up against the pillows. “What about you? You look awful, Mulder.”

He chuffed. “I was worried about you, that’s all. Didn’t you hear me trying to break the door down?”

“No!” she said in surprise. “But it’s been loud, with the storm… Oh, Mulder, I’m sorry.” Her blue eyes glimmered like the ocean; he could get lost in those eyes, and had, some days.

“It’s okay, it’s all right,” he muttered, planting a damp kiss on her freckled nose. “The important thing is that you’re okay. What's going on?" 

“Well, Mulder,” she smiled, and her hands flopped upon her belly, “it’s happening today.”

He laid his own hands over hers on her middle, feeling the in and out of her breath, the calming thrum of her heartbeat.

“Are we ready for this?” he asked, winding his fingers with hers. 

Under their joined hands, the baby squirmed and poked, getting ready to make a grand entrance very soon. Scully winced as a contraction tightened her belly, and Mulder stroked her arm, waiting for it to pass. 

“Not really,” she answered him after a time, settling in against her pillows. “But are we ever ready for the most amazing, life-changing events? We just have to let it happen, and learn as we go.”

She was smart, his wife; Mulder nodded in agreement, changing quickly into dry clothes and then moving in next to her, taking her hands again. As soon as the power came back on, they would call her doctor, and they would head to the hospital, and they would bring their newest family member into the world safely. For now, the rain pattered on the rooftop, getting lighter; the sun timidly began poking through the clouds above; and Scully closed her eyes and breathed deeply, Mulder’s hand in hers, ready to find out where this next great adventure would take them.


End file.
